The Most Dangerous Game
by Scribbler
Summary: Braig, Xigbar's Other, never thought he'd find anything good about Radiant Garden's Royal Guard training programme. Then Squall Leonhart changed his mind about EVERYTHING. Epilogue: Leon runs across a far too familiar Nobody in Traverse Town ...
1. Beginnings

**Disclaimer****:** They're mine! Oh, wait … my bad.

**A/N****: **Originally written for De Yaten on the LiveJournal community KH Request. She asked for Xigbar and the prompt 'the most dangerous game'. She also asked for something 'a bit dark'. This grew more than I was expecting, since all the other request fics I've written have been fewer than three pages and this one came in at … coughforty-twocough – eek! Hope you like, De Yaten!

**EXTRA (JUNE 2009): **I'm reworking this thing into a chaptered fic, with some minor alterations to (mainly syntax and grammar) from its original form. This is mainly because there's a sequel in the works, so I now have an excuse (and the motivation, because I'm lazy) to do something about the parts of this fic that have always bothered me, and so bring both fics (and the spin-off, _Detention Woes_) into line for a more seamless continuity.

* * *

_**The Most Dangerous Game**_

© Scribbler, August 2008/June 2009

* * *

Braig sat across from the Captain of the Royal Guard and sighed. "You want me to test him early?"

"Yes. I believe he's ready."

"You would say that. You're his father. It's an unwritten rule that parents are supposed to think their kid's some child prodigy when really he's as shiny as a piece of asphalt in a jewellery box."

The other man frowned slightly, but maintained his air of resolve. "I think, if you test him, he'll prove I'm right."

Braig resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "All right, I've got a spare ten minutes before the advanced class comes back from manoeuvres." He stood up, absolutely not sighing wearily, but implying it from every pore. "Let's see what your boy can do."

"You won't regret this, Commander."

"Yeah, yeah."

Years of watching Lord Ansem had given Braig a working knowledge of politics and placating people. Nevertheless, he still found it irritating to dance around on eggshells just to please others, and so did it with very bad grace whenever required. Give him a rifle to take apart and put back together, rather than situation that called for diplomacy – he preferred the idiom 'if it argues back, shoot it'.

Probably that was why he'd been put in charge of training cadets instead of fieldwork after the war ended. Lord Ansem knew he had useful skills that shouldn't be wasted, and was generous with those who'd been most loyal to him, but peacetime was no time for a man like Braig to be in the public eye. Possibly in case he poked it out for looking at him funny.

In this case, however, what started out as grudging diplomacy turned out to be worth it. After the last gun report faded, Braig whistled at the target, which had ten neat holes through its centre.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Thirteen, sir."

"That's two years too young to join the cadets. You a junior trainee?"

"Yes, sir. Since I was nine."

"Two years earlier than they usually take applicants. What were your entrance exam scores like?"

"A ninety-eight percent average, sir."

Braig met the eyes of the boy's father over his head. "And you decided you wanted to be a Royal Guard all on your own, I take it?"

"If you're implying my dad forced me into it, sir, then you're wrong." The kid's scowl was deep enough to plant potatoes. "This was my decision. I want this. I've always wanted this."

"Following in daddy's footsteps?"

"No." The kid risked a glance at his father. "I'm going to be better than him."

Braig spluttered a laugh. "I hate to point this out, kid, but your dad's Captain of the Royal Guard. That's pretty damn high. Lord Ansem doesn't just choose anyone as his personal bodyguards."

"That doesn't mean I can't do it better, sir."

Braig stuck out his hand towards the other man. "I'll try him. Trial basis, you understand. First sign he can't cope, I'll bust him back down to junior trainee faster than a bride drops her nightie on her wedding night."

"I'm still here, you know," the kid said insolently, in a way that would've had any other commander foaming at the mouth – bunch of straight-laced pansies. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not."

Braig laughed again, and shook the boy's hand as well. "So what's your handle, kid?"

"My handle, sir?"

"Your _name_."

"Squall, sir."

"Not anymore. As long as your teachers are the junior trainee corps back-up what you've told me, from now on you're Cadet Leonhart, so get used to answering to that."

* * *

Against all expectations, Squall _was_ impressive. He left his older classmates in the dirt, and quickly ostracised himself through being held up as a shining example by all his teachers. He learned faster than any of them, retained more, but never volunteered any of it unless asked. He wasn't stupid. He had obviously made the connection long ago, between his talent at the dagger-like looks thrown his way. Some saw him as a show-off. Some saw him as a freewheeler who wasn't applying himself fully, yet succeeded anyway. Resentment bred alongside admiration. Within weeks he had divided opinions in faculty and students more cleanly than a sword slice.

Braig watched from a distance, since he was in charge of the entire training programme but only actually taught firearms. Despite Squall's obvious talent and the evidence of previous training exhibited during his test, cadets weren't permitted to handle anything beyond blunted swords until their second year. The idea was that their physical endurance would've built up by then, so they wouldn't rely solely on weapons as a crutch, plus that gave them a year to learn all the theory that underpinned physical training. They took regular schooling as well a combat training, but condensed it so that by the time it came to the crunch, and Braig and the other weapons-masters got their hands on them, those too dim to be good for anything but cannon fodder had been weeded out and relocated to the air force.

Highwind always kicked up a stink about being lumbered with the Guards' cast-offs, but Braig paid him little mind. What use were airships, anyhow? Any lughead could fly above the enemy and drop bombs on them. He preferred his feet on the ground – better to be the one shooting someone out of the air instead of the one crashing and burning.

Squall was fourteen when they met properly again. Braig had seen him at assessments, since he had to be on the board of examiners for all termly testing. Frankly it was all a load of bullshit, and the more Braig did this job, the more he wanted to be back in the field. He hated paperwork, hated politics, hated bigwigs who'd never touched a gun telling him what to do, and _hated_ the itchiness in his feet for a good old-fashioned battle. He was a man built for war, and Lord Ansem's new, civilised empire chafed at him.

"You seem restless, Braig," Lord Ansem said once, at a dinner to which all his old generals had been called. Apparently that fart of a man, Professor Even, had discovered his own child prodigy and convinced Lord Ansem to have a dinner to introduce him like some freaking _debutante_.

All the old gang were there. Alongside Even were Cid Highwind, plus Dilan and Aeleus, both ex-war heroes from Braig's unit, but neither so hot-tempered. Their history meant they were none of them had been allowed to remain active within the military. Dilan had been put in charge of law enforcement, while Aeleus was redeployed to oversee the prison sector. There were noises, however, that they wanted to start some sort of research programme with Xehanort, the foundling Lord Ansem had picked up at the end of the war. Braig wondered about the exact nature of the relationship between Xehanort and Ansem, but figured it was none of his business. Xehanort sat on Lord Ansem's right side, and next to him was Even's pet, who watched everything with disturbingly adult eyes for a thirteen-year-old.

"Exam season, sir," Braig said in response to Lord Ansem's remark. "Lots to do."

Highwind grumbled about it being exam season for him too, but you didn't catch him whining. Since Highwind had the congeniality of a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, everybody ignored him, save for Lord Ansem, who threw him a gently disapproving look.

"Ah yes, I hear you have your own prodigy in the ranks this year," Ansem said, trying to bring Braig into the conversation he'd been deliberately keeping out of.

"You do?" Even's gaze flashed. He sensed the spotlight being taken from his apprentice. "And who, pray tell, is making a name amongst the sweating ranks of grunts and heathens?"

Braig frowned. More than all his paperwork and etiquette combined, he disliked Even. The professor had concocted enough biological weaponry to wipe out the planet before Lord Ansem, struck by post-war guilt, forced him to destroy both it and the back-up research. Braig didn't doubt Even hadn't destroyed _everything_. Sometimes he wondered why Lord Ansem couldn't see that. Then he remembered Lord Ansem didn't want to acknowledge a lot of things about the war and what his people had done in it. Self-delusion wasn't only found in nuthouses.

Braig bared his teeth across the table. You could see what Even was about in the way he moved; the precise way he cut his food and the scalpel-gleam of a knife in his hand. He had the eyes and morals of a snake, but hid them behind affectation and enough heavy self-importance to drown a whale. Braig may be bloodthirsty, but at least he was honest about it.

"Braig?" Aeleus prompted.

"Squall Leonhart."

"Ah, yes, the dear Captain Leonhart's offspring." Even took a sip of his wine. Pretentious bastard. "Where _is_ the Captain tonight? I would have thought it was his duty to attend this dinner."

"I have dispatched him with a party of other Guards and dignitaries on a goodwill mission to Resplendia," Lord Ansem said. "They're strategising on how best to pool our resources against a poor harvest this year. Resplendia's weather mages warn of a harsh Winter. If possible, Captain Leonhart is going to form some sort of exchange agreement between our healers and their mages."

"Because their mages can fertilise barren ground, but they can't do a damn thing about curing diseases, while our healers can't heal starvation, but we have the lowest mortality rate from sickness of any recovering city-state."

"Exactly, Highwind." Ansem's eyebrows quirked a little at 'recovering', but not so much you'd see it unless you were looking.

Even started talking about how being good at destroying things couldn't possibly compare to the intricacies of science that was responsible for curing tuberculosis and cholera, then went off on a tangent about brain-shapes and how he'd once proven that the brains of those attracted to fighting as a career were closer to those of Neanderthals than those who chose academia. Braig was half a second from ripping a leg off the ornate wooden table and clubbing him with it.

All the while the boy by Even's side methodically cut and chewed his food, never once chiming in with his own opinion, or even acting cowed by the high-ranking company around the table.

By the end of the meal Braig had as little idea about Ienzo's personality as he had at the start, though something about the boy made him uneasy. Perhaps it was the sly way he sometimes glanced at Xehanort, or the way he casually allowed Even to pat him on the shoulder or push him in the small of his back when gesturing him out of the room. Even's possessiveness slid off Ienzo like water down a pane of transparent glass

It was with relief that Braig attended the next day's assessments to see Squall's determined scowl. Both boys had drive – they had to in order to be scouted by people like Braig and Even – but Squall's was more honest, and Braig found himself glad _his_ discovery knew how to form facial expressions.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	2. Unusual Protector

* * *

**2. Unusual Protector **

* * *

As expected, Squall streaked ahead in weapons training as well. Braig often checked the time codes on the gym to find Cadet Leonhart had been in before or after class, sharpening his skills more than any other recruit. The other cadets taunted him for his dedication and age, but until the final cuts were made to their ranks their future was still uncertain.

When the final lists went up they banded together, a proper student body at last. Squall was on that list, but many felt he didn't belong there. It really was only a matter of time before they hazed him.

Braig found the kid trussed up behind a pile of crash mats in the gym, gagged and covered in a mixture of feathers and syrup. Knowing Squall wouldn't give up any names, instead of marching off to blast the fuckers he suspected, Braig untied him and checked him for a concussion when he saw the lump on his head.

"Let me guess: they jumped you and stuck a bag over your head."

Squall just scowled, trying to finger-comb the worst of it out.

"And they'll be waiting for you in the dorm bathroom with a bag of dry sand, so they can throw handfuls at you when you go to clean up. Man, cadets don't get any more imaginative, no matter the generation. C'mon, kid."

"Where are you taking me?" It was the first thing Squall had said since Braig found him.

"You can use the bathroom in my quarters. I pretty much own the entire left turret of the castle. Plenty of space – not that I know what the hell I need it all for half the time. You want me to tell your daddy about this?" The word 'daddy' came out almost a sneer.

"No."

"No what?"

"No, sir."

"Good lad. Now go wash that crap out of your hair. I'll look you out a new uniform, since they fucked up this one so bad."

When he returned from the stores Braig knocked the bathroom door and left the pile of clothes outside. Then he locked himself in his study to finish writing up next term's intermediate class curriculum – or at least growl at it like he could bully it into writing itself. Fucking paperwork.

After a while the door clicked open, but he didn't look up. Nobody was stupid enough to try breaking into his quarters; not with all the firearms he lovingly kept there. He could stand anyway in his rooms, reach out a hand and find something to shoot with – whether it be a traditional crossbow, a musket, a sniper rifle made right here in Radiant Garden, or something exotic like a flintlock from Resplendia, or an harquebus from the Dazzle Islands.

"Feel better?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wanna tell me the names of the fucktards who got you?"

"No, sir."

"Figured as much. There's some food under the lid on the trolley. One of the servants brought it up. Help yourself. You might as well stay here tonight. They'll only get you again if you go back."

"With all due respect, sir, I think that'd be a bad idea."

Something in the kid's tone made Braig stop writing and turn in his seat. "Because?"

"The other cadets might get the wrong idea."

"About?"

"They might think they've frightened me off."

"Oh." For some reason this answer displeased Braig. He capped his pen and brushed past Squall, striding into the main living area of his quarters. "In that case, I'll walk you back to your dorm."

"That won't be necessary, sir."

"Damn right it will. I need to chew out the little stomach-churning bastards, whether you confirm their names for me or not."

"But sir –"

"Cadet Leonhart!" Braig barked.

Squall fell automatically into a salute. "Sir?"

"Your orders are to march that pansy ass of yours back to your dorm and not say a damn word while I rip those classmates of yours limb from limb." Braig paused. "Verbally. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The hazing continued. Squall bore it all stoically, and continued to do extra practise before and after class despite threats that he should stop. He excelled in theory fresheners as well, scoring highest of everybody and putting him even further ahead than the other cadets. He had a tactical mind to match his raw ambition, and developed ways to avoid his classmates, after first developing ways to spot when they were likely to try something.

Ignorant people may have suggested he fight back, since he'd learned so much about combat. One good trouncing would put those other kids in their place, right?

Wrong.

Squall knew that fighting back was what they wanted, so they'd have a good excuse to beat him so badly he'd have to leave the programme and they could claim it was an honest fight.

_And everybody and their kid brother knows I like a good fight_, Braig thought sourly, not liking how the other boys were using this knowledge to their own ends. He liked a fight, yeah, but not like this – sniping and picking away, bit by bit.

Despite Braig's tirade that night in the dorm, and the one he was assured Commander Trepe had given the female cadets, Squall was still victimised. Braig watched and soon picked out the ringleaders - typical bullying sorts; afraid of anyone better than them because it rocked their worldview that they were top of the tree. Each one of them had entitlement issues, and Squall's determination to succeed threatened their strong beliefs that they deserved success more than some Captain's son who'd received special treatment because of who his daddy was.

Braig let it all continue, knowing that Squall was getting a lot of hard-earned lessons from it, and that it would burn itself out eventually. It had done so when he was a cadet, after all.

Only when Squall was fished out of the canal with rocks tied to his shoes, hands fastened behind his back, and a bloody gash on his forehead to match the rope burns around his neck, did Braig decide things had gone too far.

* * *

The funerals were held in Midwinter, when the ground was cold and hard. The three coffins were adult-sized, but the bodies inside didn't fill them.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Braig said to a distraught mother.

"H-How did this h-happen?" she bawled.

"We think they broke away from the main unit during field manoeuvres, and their radio didn't work. They were trained to always check their equipment before they left, but they must've overlooked procedure this time. One of the other groups thought they were training dummies, though we're not sure who as nobody's come forward. It was an accident."

"Live rounds." She buried her face in her husband's chest. "You gave live rounds to _children_!"

Braig's expression darkened. "They were young men, ma'am, and they were Guard cadets, not children."

Because 'children' implied innocence, and if there was one thing his training programme wiped out, it was innocence.

Braig turned away from the grieving couple and found himself meeting Xehanort's gaze across the graveyard. Ansem's apprentice held his eyes for a moment, expression inscrutable, and then turned away to talk to Ienzo, who has broken away from Even and looked even more dour than usual in a black suit.

Braig frowned, not sure why he suddenly felt like he'd been scoured through and left hollow, all his secrets and hidden impulses laid open to the frosty air.

* * *

When Squall turned fifteen Dilan came to view Braig's class, apparently to scout out those better suited to law enforcement than the Royal Guards. He nodded at target practise and broke into slow, slightly ironic applause during the obstacle course.

"I had, however, expected … more."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Braig demanded.

Dilan shrugged. "Even keeps shoving Ienzo's achievements down our throats. I had hoped your boy could level out the playing field; perhaps take that windbag down a peg or two by showing him what a … how did he describe it again?" He tapped his chin with one long finger, the way he used to when thinking hard about battle strategy during the war. Braig was transported back by the tiny gesture, and united once more with his old friend against scientists and their derision of soldiers. "Ah, yes: 'dirt-mongering layabouts made of only muscle, aside from the pound of fat between their ears'. That's a direct quote."

Braig burned, but kept a lid on his temper because Squall _was_ next.

Dilan watched with mounting approval. When it came to hand-to-hand, Braig picked a much bigger lad as his adversary, and when Squall had finished him in three moves, Dilan's applause had lost its ironic edge.

"Impressive. And he's fifteen, you say? How old is the boy he defeated?"

"Turned eighteen three days ago."

"And built like a steamroller. Yes, I shall take great pleasure in reporting this back to our esteemed contemporary."

After class ended Braig called Squall over and introduced him to Dilan. Squall received the praise well. He knew who Dilan was.

"It's an honour to get compliments from members of the Blood Trio, sir."

Dilan raised an eyebrow. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"I read about the achievements of yourself, Commander Braig and General Aeleus during the war, sir. You all gave up your surnames when you were trapped in the mountains, pinned down by enemy fire, and took a blood-oath to make it out alive. You swore you were blood brothers and took on a new surname that you all shared. Hence: the Blood Trio."

"Although there were some who suggested we chose the name because of our penchant for spilling blood," Dilan said, amused without the amusement part. "And Lord Ansem was rather against us using that surname when it came to reassigning us after the war."

"I know, sir."

"Regular little research monkey, this one," Braig said proudly. "Wants to be better than his old man someday."

"Yes," Dilan said thoughtfully, looking Squall over with a critical eye. "And I believe he may well achieve that dream. You've done a fine job with him, Braig, though I do have one suggestion that might round out his performance even further."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Yes." Dilan's smile showed the promise of burying Even's nose in the dirt. "I notice you have only a small segment of your curriculum dedicated to spear-training…"

* * *

"How's it going?"

Squall stopped towelling his hair to look for the speaker. When his eyes came to rest on Braig there was the flicker of a smile in them, though his mouth remained straighter than a spirit gauge. "Commander Dilan is a master spear specialist, sir."

"Tell me something I don't know." Leaning against the doorframe, Braig spiralled one hand at the wrist, his other hand tucked under the opposite armpit. There was nobody else around at this hour, since regular classes had ended before Dilan came to continue with Squall's extra-curricular tuition. The locker room smelled of old sweat and piss, and reminded Braig of battlefield dugouts with a pang most soldiers never felt when thinking about the dirty, smelly trenches that were graves as often as shelter from enemy fire. "I served with him, remember? I meant how are _you _finding his extra training? I haven't had a chance to speak to you about it since he came sniffing around to pinch our cadets."

"I'm honoured that he though me worthy, sir."

"Don't be honoured. That means getting stars in your eyes and fucking up because you're trying too hard to impress someone. He hasn't tried to get you to join the law enforcers, has he?"

"No, sir."

Relief was like an unclenching fist in Braig's gut. "Good."

"No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I mean … thank you for recommending me, sir."

"What makes you think I did that?"

"Nobody else was chosen for extra training with a secondary tier weapon."

"Nobody else has your skill, Leonhart." Braig tapped the side of his nose and pushed of the doorframe. "You're special. Always remember that."

"Sir?"

"Now get showered before you stink up the place even more. Kit check in the dorms in twenty minutes. Hup, hup, hup!"

Squall saluted smartly. "Sir! Yes, sir!"

* * *

It was inevitable that Dilan's visit would have consequences. Still, Braig greeted the summons to another 'introduction' dinner with a curse, knowing that Even had to be behind it – especially since he'd orchestrated it to happen while Captain Leonhart was once again overseas. Even knew that he wouldn't be able to ridicule the boy with his father in the next seat.

Braig ended up shooting the crap out of a cushion and then, feeling not the least bit satisfied at killing upholstery, going down to the shooting range where he emptied clip after clip. Somehow none of it had the visceral fulfilment he was looking for, so when he went to fetch Squall the following evening he was still antsy and irritated. Squall watched him warily, alert to the fact his commander wasn't keeping his cool as well as usual. Braig knew Squall had to be aware of his temper, especially if he knew half the things he'd gotten up to while part of the Blood Trio. Consequently, he had to be aware of what a chore it was to keep that temper in check every day, and how much of a _nightmare_ he often found it to play nice and by other people's rules.

Really, it was a wonder Lord Ansem had put him in charge of minors when redeploying him. Then again, since Lord Ansem worked tirelessly to erase the evidence of dirty goings-on within his own ranks during the war, maybe it was all part of his big redemption plan.

The utopia of Radiant Garden was his attempt to eclipse his own misdeeds, and the orders he'd given during that time that resulted in hundreds of deaths. Braig remember when it was called Radiant Bastion, before it underwent the great overhaul that had a constant lightshow whooshing into the sky, and rose bushes, cherry trees and flowerpots on every street corner. Lord Ansem had his own darkness, and no amount of wreathing his heart with glitter and fairy lights could disguise that to those who knew of it. Braig never tried to disguise his past, though he'd learned the value of not talking if opening his mouth would splurge inconvenient truths.

Braig's self-control, however, was nothing compared to Aeleus's. Aeleus's stoicism made Squall look like a toddler having a tantrum. When he placed himself between Braig and Even like a human buffer he radiated such composure that Braig couldn't help but absorb some – useful, since Even spent the whole dinner trying to disparage Squall and rile Braig into an embarrassing show of temper, no doubt so he could pour even more scorn on warriors compared to scientists.

Amazingly, Highwind challenged him on his remarks, and the pair fell to arguing almost immediately. Even sneered, showing off his extensively vocabulary, while Highwind made the best use of his blue one. once or twice Braig saw Squall close his eyes slightly too long for it to be a blink, and knew he was cataloguing the insults to use against his classmates, or perhaps to teach the only friend he'd managed to make; a boy of his own age who hadn't been skipped ahead, and who near-idolised Squall as much as his belittled his own mediocrity.

Eventually even Lord Ansem attempted to step in, but it was Xehanort who got Even onto another topic – some kind of research they'd been doing, evidently with Xehanort himself as the test subject. They traded algorithms and formulae back and forth until dessert, when Even could hold himself back no longer and once more attacked Squall, comparing the rate and number of his achievements to Ienzo's.

By the end of the evening Braig was fizzing again. He rose to leave first and Squall got up too, but to everyone's surprise Ienzo, who hadn't spoke a word throughout, suddenly rose from his chair and stood in front of the other boy. They were wildly different in appearance. Squall would never bulk out like some of the other cadets, but he had a wiry strength about him, as if his whole body was a fist. Ienzo, on the other hand, had the build of a scholar who was frequently so absorbed in his work he forgot to eat. Despite this they were the same height and stared at each other without speaking. Braig wasn't sure what was going on in Ienzo's head, but he knew Squall well enough by now to know the kid was doing some mental knuckle-cracking.

"Ienzo," Even snapped.

Ienzo ignored him. He continued to search Squall's face for something. Whether or not he found it, Braig was never sure, but he sat down after a few moments and calmly resumed drinking his after-dinner coffee.

"Makes me fucking glad all my kids are normal," Braig heard Highwind mutter into his drink as they left. "Child prodigies are all fucked in the head."

"What the hell was _that_ all about?" Braig demanded on the way back to the cadets' dorms.

"I don't know," Squall replied.

"As if."

Squall looked up at him and asked, quite suddenly, "Why don't you like Captain Highwind? He seemed okay to me."

"He probably is." Actually, Braig couldn't articulate why he didn't like Highwind, except that his grouchiness covered an integrity so wholesome it was sickening. Highwind had killed just as much as anyone during the war, but afterwards he would kick his precious airships like they'd done something wrong by not jamming their bomb hatches. More than once he'd begged for summits and parleys instead of strafing behind enemy lines, but he'd always been overruled. Braig thought less of Highwind because of his softness, since couldn't be bothered feeling sorry for an enemy that was already dead.

"And what about Professor Even?"

"What about him?"

"Why don't you like him? You worked extensively with him during the war."

"You just answered your own question, kid. Even's a smarmy bastard – always has been, always will be. He never got punched in the face as a kid, nor had his head flushed down the toilet, even though he deserved it, and everybody's reaping the rewards from that now."

"Sir?"

Braig gazed sideways at Squall, taking in the changes wrought in him since they first met. His body had altered, but the same fierce, almost insolent determination still shone in his blue eyes, and despite the hazing and training and his research into war atrocities, there was still a kind of innocence there. Squall still believed in heroes and the greater good.

"Never mind."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	3. The Project

* * *

**3. The Project**

* * *

"He's equally talented with both swords and firearms."

Braig turned from watching the advanced class to see Aeleus in the doorway, where he'd apparently been for some time.

In the middle of the gym Captain Fair was leading the recruits through sword training, using his own massive blade to demonstrate. The _shing_ of metal on metal rang out as pairs engaged each other, and Captain Fair's voice rang over everything. Unlike Braig, who yelled until the tendons stuck out on his neck, or Dilan, who kept his voice so low you had to almost strain to hear it, Captain Fair's tone always verged on laughter, like he was in on some great cosmic joke and everybody else was just approaching the punch-line.

"C'mon, Leonhart, put your back into it. Your pal Strife's in the younger class and he can do better than that."

"Sir! Yes, sir!"

"Much better. Hey, Seagill, watch out or Zabac will take your legs from under you. Now what did I tell you? Swordplay isn't about just the blade, ladies and gents; an opponent's entire body is their weapon. The sword is just the shiny bit."

Braig regarded Aeleus before answering. He didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "Your point is?"

"Most recruits by this stage have chosen a weapon of choice to specialise in."

"Yeah."

"He hasn't."

"I know."

"Why? Can't he decide?"

Probably, if left alone, Squall would've picked a speciality weapon by now, but Braig felt something like alarm whenever he thought of Captain Fair becoming his mentor. Squall was the best, and Fair only taught his formidable skills to the best. Braig couldn't risk losing the kid, not after all he'd invested in him. Still, he couldn't help but feel that Squall wouldn't be satisfied with just firearms either.

"I've got something special in mind for him."

"What?"

"Gunblade."

Aeleus didn't snort. He wasn't capable of it, Braig reckoned. "Nobody's used one of those in decades."

"Because nobody was good enough until now. You said it yourself; he's exceptional with both sword and firearms." And a gunblade would give Braig the advantage to use his clout and make himself Squall's mentor, since it shot bullets.

Aeleus watched him for a moment, before transferring his gaze back to the cadets. "Lord Ansem wants to enlist myself and Dilan in Xehanort's project," he said without preamble, in the same tone of voice he used for everything. You could never tell whether Aeleus was happy, sad, pissed off or horny, if he even _got _horny. Certainly he exuded a kind of sexless air that reminded Braig of robots and boulders. Eve in the heat of battle, running pell-mell down a mountainside with enchanted grenades throwing up debris all around him, he swung his giant tomahawk with the same precise economy of movement with which he did everything. Even Braig would think twice about taking on Aeleus in a fight. "He feels relations between the armed forces and research-based corners have become too strained, and seeks to make links between them by letting us 'on board'."

"Bully for him."

"He wants you to attend the experiments as well."

"As if."

"I wouldn't disobey this invitation, Braig."

"Ansem can kiss my ass. I'm not spending any more time with Even and his bum-chum apprentice than I absolutely have to."

Aeleus also wasn't capable of looking shocked, though he did flick a particularly cool glance at his old friend. "I'm informed that the relationship between Even and Ienzo is strictly platonic."

"Fine. Whatever. Mind the low-flying pigs on your way out."

"I wasn't talking about Lord Ansem when I said ignoring this invitation would be a bad idea."

"What?"

"Xehanort is also eager for your participation."

"That fruit basket? I've barely talked to him since Lord Ansem brought him here."

"Nevertheless, you interest him. His exact words were that your heart and temperament would be advantageous to his research."

"Yeah, well, you can tell him to go fuck himself. Now if you don't mind, I've got things to do."

Aeleus excused himself, but not before noting that the only thing Braig appeared to be doing was watching a bunch of cadets in someone else's lesson.

* * *

Squall was surprised when Braig presented him with the case containing a gunblade and specialised maintenance equipment. He stared, open-mouthed. Braig took satisfaction in finally summoning an expression to the kid's face that wasn't a scowl, and which lasted for more than five seconds.

"It's called Revolver, but you can rename it if you want."

"Sir …"

"Close your mouth, Leonhart."

Squall's jaw snapped shut so hard it clicked, and Braig half expected to hear the fleshy noise of a severed tongue. "Sir, this is from your personal collection of firearms."

"Uh-huh."

"I saw it on the wall in your quarters."

"What of it?"

Expression verging on desolation, Squall closed the case and pushed it across the desk towards Braig. "I can't accept this, sir."

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be proper."

"Bullshit." Braig stood up. It took everything he had to keep his hands behind his back. "You remember what I once said about you being special? And you remember the thing everyone called you at that fucking awful dinner in Lord Ansem's chambers?"

Squall said nothing.

"Answer me, Leonhart," Braig barked.

"A prodigy, sir."

"And do you know what a prodigy _is_?"

"Someone who masters one or more skills or arts at an early age, sir."

"Exactly. And they don't come around every day. Ergo, when they do turn up, you make fucking well _sure_ their skills aren't wasted. Not everybody could handle a gunblade, Leonhart. The last person to master one was me, so I'm the expert, and I believe you've got what it takes to make this your specialist weapon. Now either you take Revolver and get your ass out onto that shooting range to test her out, or I ram it so far down your throat you start shitting bullets. Am I making myself clear?"

Squall blinked rapidly. He'd witnessed Braig's tirades many times before, but it had been a long time since he'd been on the receiving end of one.

"Cadet Leonhart!"

Squall picked up the case by its handle and saluted. "Sir!"

Braig gave a fierce smile.

* * *

"That was remarkably generous of you," said Captain Leonhart one day over lunch. He'd treated Braig to a meal at one of Radiant Garden's premiere restaurants, but where Laguna Leonhart looked at ease in the elegant surroundings, Braig was anything but. "When I last saw him, Squall could talk of nothing but gunblade maintenance and that special move you've been teaching him."

Braig shrugged, trying not to scratch himself. Places like this made him itch, like they were getting under his skin better than fleas. "Renzokuken."

"Excuse me?"

"The Limit Break attack I've been teaching him. It's called Renzokuken."

"It sounds very impressive."

"It is. I invented it during the war, so it got field tested in a hurry and had all the bugs worked out of it fast. It's what won us the Battle of Bathward when I used it to take out the ogres the Dazzle Islands were using to supplement their declining troop numbers."

"That was the battle where the Wutai ninjas were fighting alongside our forces, wasn't it?"

"Their first battle of the entire conflict, the money-grubbing bastards." Braig glared at a refined woman who sniffed at his language, clearly not knowing, or perhaps not caring, who he was. "Your kid's doing pretty well for himself."

"Yes. I'm very proud of him. His mother would have been as well, had she been alive to see his success. I'm grateful for all you've done for him."

Braig snorted. "You just make sure he doesn't fuck up at the last minute and make me look bad after all this."

Laguna smiled easily. "I don't think he will."

Braig _knew_ he wouldn't, but he didn't say that. Instead he stabbed a fork into his rare steak like it'd insulted him, watching pinkish red juice ooze across his plate.

-

Xehanort knocked on Braig's door during a balmy Summer evening to confront him with remarkable politeness about his refusal to join the project. He wouldn't, however, take no for an answer, not even when Braig finally snapped that he'd rather chew barbed wire than get involved in one of Even's ventures.

"But it isn't Even's project," Xehanort said mildly. "It's mine. Or rather, it's the project of myself and Lord Ansem."

"And what exactly are you _doing_ in this project?"

"Investigating the darkness of the heart."

Braig's breath caught in his throat like a piece of cloth on a rusty nail. He flashed back to the war: striding onto the battlefield and facing down an armoured man wielding a sword shaped like a giant key; a warrior who talked about light and darkness, and how hearts were the most destructive weapon ever created. Without thinking, Braig touched his eye patch. He remembered waking up in a medical tent afterwards, lucky to have only lost an eye and his looks when the unknown warrior slashed him so hard it opened his cheek to the bone.

"I appear to have touched a nerve," Xehanort remarked. "Every heart has darkness in it. If it could be harnessed, we could learn so much about the nature of evil and destruction."

"Oh is _that_ all?" Braig said sourly, though he was caught despite himself.

They'd found Xehanort not long after that battle, so maybe he knew something about this 'darkness of the heart' stuff. On the other hand, Xehanort didn't remember much of anything else, so maybe he knew nothing and was just jerking Braig's chain; spinning him a line to get him on board for whatever scheme he was planning.

"And what, exactly, do you think I could contribute to this schmancy project of yours? I'm not exactly Research Guy. I prefer instinct to paperwork."

"That's exactly why you're perfect. Your raw bloodlust is unparalleled – there are so many different shades of darkness to the human heart, from viciousness and violence to cold indifference and deafness to the suffering of others. And like recognises like. Plus, your lack of sympathy and skill in the taking of lives would be very useful."

"Excuse me? You want me to _kill _people for this project?"

"Not precisely, although there might be an element of extermination necessary. Sacrifices are sometimes needed, as they have always been needed to further knowledge through the ages."

Braig narrowed his good eye, but said, "I'm listening."

"Lord Ansem is, I believe, about to withdraw his support from the project. We have pushed too many of his self-inflicted boundaries, but the things we can still learn are consummate, even above his decrees. Therefore there may be some subterfuge required, and we may need to take decisive, even dramatic action rather than moving in increments as we have been doing thus far."

"So you're saying you want my help in making a big push instead of baby steps now Ansem's not there to put the brakes on you anymore."

"Do you wish to know about darkness of the heart, Commander?"

Braig swallowed. He'd wanted that for years, ever since he collapsed on the battlefield in his first loss ever. He'd never lost before because he was willing to kill to make sure he emerged the victor, even when his opponent surrendered. He'd used Renzokuken, the most powerful attack he had, but the golden warrior had still turned it aside like it was nothing. A lot of the frustration that plagued him could be traced back to that single defeat and the sense of vulnerability that'd followed it.

The words of the one man who'd ever defeated him echoed in his head to this day, though they'd faded in recent years as other things took over his attention. Now they reawakened and glowed like the embers of a fire with fresh fuel.

"Would you be willing to fly under Lord Ansem's radar in order to gain the knowledge you seek?" Xehanort asked softly.

Lord Ansem was a self-deceiving hypocrite who thought he could recreate himself into some benevolent ruler with no blood on his hands. Probably he was even now telling himself that his 'experiments' (and wasn't that word coming to mean so much more now) with Xehanort were philanthropic, and not just a way for him to find out how he could erase the darkness from his own heart and make the public image he'd been peddling into a solid reality.

Braig sealed his own fate with a nod. "Aren't you worried I'm going to listen to what you've got planned and then run off and tell him everything?"

"No. Your heart is like a caged tiger, yearning for the hunt, but Ansem only gives you cuts of meat that don't even smell like the outside world." Xehanort's smile had no warmth to it, and didn't reach his eyes, but Braig didn't much care. "I'm offering you a taste of what you've missed most, plus answers to some of your questions – two things I'm certain you'd sacrifice quite a lot for."

And frankly, Braig couldn't disagree.

* * *

He suspected it was all a set-up, of course. He kept himself on guard at all times, and it wasn't until he actually _saw_ one of the test-subjects that he believed Xehanort was on the level.

"Sweet Shiva …"

"Beautiful, isn't it? I'm sure even such a prosaic mind as yours can appreciate the exquisiteness of the human form." Even skulked up to him, but Braig stepped away.

The figure on the table writhed against his bonds. He was strapped down so tightly that his wrists and ankles were rubbed raw even though his movement was severely restricted. His eyes were closed, but they snapped open at the sound of approaching footsteps. "C-Commander?"

It was one of the boys he'd removed to be sent to the air force – some no-name kid from the orphanage whose test scores were too low. He'd obviously been tortured, probably with the thing that looked like a giant breathing mask above the table. The same outline had been burned into his chest, right above his heart. Lord Ansem hadn't known about this when he withdrew his support. He'd though it was just Xehanort who'd had that heart-probe used on him, and that the other members of the project had mooted the idea of using other test subjects but never gotten that far before he 'closed down' everything.

But the reality was quite different than Lord Ansem realised.

Braig couldn't remember the boy's name. He turned away, ignoring the wail that followed him. "So what's this all about?"

"We're testing to measure the levels of light and darkness inside his heart."

"Why?"

Even blinked. "One must know the shape of the land before one can traverse it."

"Speak English."

"Before we can learn how to manipulate the levels of light and darkness within a heart, we must first learn how to read those levels without destroying the heart or the body it's in." Ienzo was like smoke sliding into Braig's peripheral vision. His pale hair seemed to glow in the halogen lights.

"I hear you were the one who convinced Lord Ansem to build this laboratory."

Ienzo nodded. "He is very much in favour of stretching young minds and providing the facilities to do so."

"I'll bet." Braig looked over at Xehanort, who'd been watching his reaction with interest. "So what do you need me to do that Dilan or Aeleus can't?"

"Taking test subjects is a delicate business. Dilan and Aeleus can draft from their various units, but the key to accurate results is getting a range of subjects – to have too many of one type is to limit oneself. Thus far, this is the youngest subject we've been able to enlist."

"'Draft'? 'Enlist'? You make it sound like they sign up for this."

"Oh, they do, through their actions and temperaments. We require a range of those exhibiting especially acute light and dark behaviour for our data – male and female, well-adjusted and those of unstable mind, law-abiding and criminal, young and old -"

Braig held up a hand. "I think I see where this is going."

Even sniffed. "Evidently you are not as slow as you look, _Commander_."

Braig resisted punching him only because he was too busy revelling in the prospect of what was to come.

* * *

"How come you never asked Highwind to this little shindig?" Braig asked a few weeks later.

It was the first time he'd ever seen Xehanort frown. "He would have been a liability."

"You mean he would've laughed in your face."

The frown deepened, telling Braig all he needed to know. He didn't even bother asking about Captain Leonhart. As head of Lord Ansem's bodyguards, Laguna would have run straight to his boss with news that the project he'd shut down was still running, and, more than that, had moved on to using other test subjects despite his specific orders not to.

He turned his attention back to what Ienzo was doing to the boy from before, strapped back to the table but much thinner than he used to be. His head lolled to one side as he mumbled something, probably another plea to be let go, or a question to know what he'd done wrong. Braig had learned that the experiments were incredibly painful, which made him wonder how Xehanort had borne them, and how Lord Ansem hadn't stopped them immediately if he was really committed to his new benevolent persona as he insisted.

"If any of this comes out," he said without looking away, "we're all in the shit. You know that, right?"

"It won't come out yet, and when it does, it will be on my terms. People won't be able to disagree that we were right and Ansem was wrong for trying to stop us. If a few lives were necessary to further scientific knowledge that could extend lifespans, cure amnesia, eradicate immorality, wholly rehabilitate criminals without fear of failure, or do any number of other things, then they will be accepted because of the gain."

"You really think this is some great humanitarian venture?"

Xehanort was prevented from answering by a thin, ear-piercing scream from the boy on the table.

Braig was used to hearing him scream by now, but the timbre of this one was different. His eyes bulged and his head was thrown back, spine arched even though it caused the restraints to cut in. Blood oozed down his arms and over his feet, but what held the onlookers was the black shadow working its way out from under the clamp on his chest. It seeped upwards and coalesced with a pop into a small creature with feelers and luminous yellow eyes. When it landed on the table it passed straight through the boy's dissolving body and peered at Ienzo, head tipped to one side like a curious puppy.

"What the f-" Braig started.

The creature launched itself at Ienzo, who fell back against the control panel, eyes wide. Before it reached him it convulsed in mid-air, a large spear streaking through it to thunk against the far wall. The creature exploded in a shower of black dust.

"Quickly, collect some residue before it's all gone!" Xehanort yelled.

Eyes still wide, Ienzo fumbled in the pocket of his labcoat and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, which he used to scoop up and enfold some of the dust. Xehanort hurried towards him and took the square of fabric almost reverently. Ienzo's chest flexed in and out rapidly, Braig noted, but Xehanort didn't seem to care that the kid was almost hyperventilating. It was the liveliest he'd ever seen Ienzo.

"What was that thing?" Dilan asked, retrieving the spear from the wall and pressing a button that retracted it to the size and shape of a cigar.

Xehanort didn't reply; too busy pressing a few grains of dust between his thumb and forefinger. His hungry expression tugged at something way back in Braig's mind. He wouldn't realise until later that it was the last vestiges of his morals twitching before they went into rigor-mortis.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	4. Captain Zack Fair

* * *

**4. Captain Zack Fair**

* * *

When cadets had a mentor they began a more personalised regimen of one-on-one training sessions, with only a handful of group classes a week. Sometimes these mentor sessions had to be taken in pairs if a mentor was particularly overburdened with those who'd chosen their speciality weapon. Captain Fair suffered from this, though Braig suspected it was more his natural charisma that attracted cadets. They wanted to be like him; never mind his skill, it was his personality they wanted to emulate. If he hadn't chosen to become a teacher he would've given Laguna Leonhart a run for his money, and Braig was willing to bet Lord Ansem would've chosen Zack to lead his Royal Guards over Squall's father.

Braig very rarely chose to mentor, since he was stretched thin with official procedure and all that damnable paperwork as it was, and couldn't always trust himself to turn up on time, if at all, if he was having a bad day. Thus Squall was his only student this year, something for which he was especially glad now Xehanort's project made demands on his time. Nobody questioned his choice, since Squall's reputation as a rising star was widespread. It made sense that the director of the whole training programme would be his mentor instead of one of his subordinates – even if Captain Fair _had_ tried to insist he be Squall's mentor instead.

"I think he'd benefit from -"

"I've already told you my decision, Fair, now back off."

Zack had raised his hands and, indeed, taken a step backwards, like one lion giving way to a more senior one over a piece of fresh kill. "I'll just let it be known now that the kid may be talented, but his social skills need work. Being a Royal Guard isn't just about knowing how to clean a gun, and if he really is intent on being Captain someday he's got to know how to interact with more than just that Strife kid and you."

Braig had narrowed his eye and growled, "Your opinion has been noted, Fair, but I will remain Leonhart's mentor." He enunciated each word so clearly the click of his teeth was audible.

Zack raised his eyebrows as if to say 'okay, but it's your funeral'. It took everything Braig had not to whip out his pistol and shoot the bastard in the head.

The day after the shadow creature emerged, Xehanort voiced the opinion that they needed a fresh test subject, and both Even and Ienzo agreed. Aeleus began suggesting the names of inmates who wouldn't be missed, but Braig cut him off.

"I have just the person."

"No," Dilan said when he'd told them. "Too public. It'd be immediately noticeable that he's missing. We're meant to be working in secret."

"I agree," Aeleus. "This is no time for personal vendettas."

"Personal vendetta? This isn't a personal vendetta. If it was, I would've said Even's name."

Even opened his mouth to say something scathing, but closed it again when Xehanort spoke.

"What makes you think Braig's suggestion is part of a personal vendetta, Aeleus?"

Aeleus managed to maintain his stoic shell, but Braig saw the uneasy flicker behind his eyes when he looked at him and then back at Xehanort. For his part, Xehanort said nothing, just waited with the patience of a cat outside a mouse hole.

"Hm," he said at last. "Interesting. I will bear your suggestion in mind, Braig, but for the moment I agree with Dilan. We must maintain our secrecy until we have enough useable data. I am very interested in these shadow creatures created when the darkness of the heart takes on physical form."

"Is that what happened?" Braig sat back in his chair, not placated in the least.

"Yesterday's test went deeper than we've ever gone before into the human heart; so deep, in fact, that we accidentally cracked the shell on the inner heart."

"What the hell is an inner heart?"

"The outer heart is the physical organ that pumps blood around the body," Ienzo explained. "The inner heart is the container and perhaps even the generator of more esoteric substances – light, darkness, emotions, and less scientifically, the soul."

"If we can replicate that depth again, with all our equipment focussed on the composition of the inner heart itself instead of just the palpitations of the outer heart, we could uncover so much." Xehanort nodded. "Make your choice of subject, Aeleus, and be discreet about it."

"It may be a few days before I can safely remove the inmate without arousing suspicion."

"Do it. Ienzo, Even and I can analyse our current data until then. It may be best that we aren't seen together for a while anyway, so we can't be easily linked when we need multiple subjects to test at one time."

* * *

Squall turned up late for his mentoring session, sporting a rapidly swelling lip. Apparently some kids had set on his little friend from the lower class, Cloud Strife, and when Squall went to fight for the kid they beat him up instead. His right arm was damaged, the ligaments in his shoulder torn, so that when he tried to lift Revolver he cried out in pain and dropped it.

"Go to the castle healers. Get that injury sorted."

"I'm sorry -"

"Don't be."

* * *

Cloud Strife wasn't half the fighter Squall was. Braig suspected he only hung around Squall for protection, or the reflected glory, or maybe both. The boy stared up at him in alarm when he appeared behind him in the dining hall. Cloud's only evidence of the fight was a cut cheek, which just made Braig burn more. That someone as talented as Squall could be injured enough to seriously jeopardise his future career, while this little shrimp got away with nothing when it was _his fault _Squall had risked himself, was completely unacceptable. But that was an issue for another time.

Braig gestured for Cloud to follow him to his office.

"I want names."

"S-sir?"

He pushed the pad and pencil across his desk. "The ones who attacked you. I want names."

"Sir, I wasn't attacke-"

"Don't bullshit me. Write them down and then get the hell out of my sight."

Squall still would've refused, but Strife spilled his guts like a squashed caterpillar. Afterwards he scuttled away and Braig drew the pad close, adding an extra two cadets to the field training list set to dispatch to the Dazzle Islands the next morning. It was a back-breaking assignment, lifting and carrying and generally doing grunt-work for the more senior members of the party under the guise of 'getting experience in the field'. Nobody ever wanted to do it, which is why he had to choose 'volunteers'.

Braig nodded to himself. Yes, that would do quite nicely.

* * *

He watched impassively as the kid on the table screamed. The other one had turned into a shadow creature early on, but this one hung around like a bad smell.

"Please … please, no more …" he begged. "I'm sorry … I … no more, please …"

"You're certain neither of them will be missed?" Even asked.

"The Dazzle Islands may be pretty, but they do a brisk trade in organ trafficking on the black market. Can I help it if two brainless cadets got uppity about being treated like slaves, disobeyed orders to sneak into the red light district late at night, and got themselves killed?"

Even looked askance at him. "I had not figured you for such subtle irony."

"What?"

"Organ trafficking as a cover story when they are useful to us only for their corrupt little hearts."

Braig snorted, but the sound was lost as the kid gave a last scream and his chest erupted into a monster. Dilan immediately sealed it inside an enchanted glass container designed specifically for that purpose. The shadow creature scrabbled at the sides, but it was trapped. Aeleus calmly took it away to join the others they'd collected for study.

* * *

"No fucking way."

"We've all been through it once."

"No. Fucking. _Way_."

"Don't you want to know the content of your own heart?"

"Not until you can wire that machine not to turn it into a shadow creature."

"We wouldn't go that deep. And we've been learning the subtleties of the process. We can now register the ratio of light to dark in a single heart without breaking it open and letting the darkness take corporeal shape."

"Didn't you hear me? I said no _fucking_ way!"

"What is the matter, Braig?" Xehanort was suddenly there behind the others, Ienzo at his side. The whole group, together again, but there was something different about Xehanort today. Braig didn't know what it was, but it made every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Are you afraid of what we might find in your heart? Or are you afraid of what _you_ might confirm about yourself? As if your participation in the project so far hasn't already made it perfectly clear which side, light or dark, your heart errs on."

"I'm not letting you use that machine on me. No way, no how."

"Aren't you even the slightest bit curious?" Dilan asked. He looked wilder than usual, too. His bright, intelligent eyes had dark circles around them like blisters.

Braig glanced at Aeleus, who would be the real test. Sure enough, something burned in his old friend's eyes that set his nerves jangling. They all looked slightly … well, _unhinged_, as if they'd stared into the void and it had waved back.

_Was_ he curious?

Again, the image of that gold-armoured warrior with the sword like a key flashed into his mind: _"The darkness within the heart is the true measure of a person, which makes hearts the most destructive weapon ever. I fight with the power of my heart, while you rely on your guns and bullets, therefore I will always prevail because my weapon is the stronger one."_ Then the humiliation of defeat and the reminder of that whenever he looked into a mirror, followed by Ansem blunting his claws by making him a glorified babysitter the moment the war ended. Braig's lasting memory of what should've been the most glorious period in his life was bitter as sour milk and left the same aftertaste.

"_Before we can learn how to manipulate the levels of light and darkness within a heart, we must first learn how to read those levels without destroying the heart or the body it's in."_ Ienzo's voice floated back to him.

If they could manipulate the darkness in his heart, help him turn it into a weapon, then all he had to do was find that damn gold warrior again; someone he could fight without worrying about politics or public opinion, since he hadn't belonged to the other side but had been part of some other group entirely, a war going on outside their own that sometimes edged into their conflict and then –

"What the fuck? Get offa me!"

Xehanort paid him no heed. Braig had heard he possessed supernatural powers, but never seen them before now. Some sort of telekinesis wrapped around his body and lifted him into the air, carrying him across to the table.

"You will thank us for this later," Aeleus said in his deep rumble.

"Knowledge is power," said Even, already warming up the apparatus and opening the correct programme. "And like any purveyor of brute strength and fighting, power is practically the only thing you understand, yes?"

The underground laboratory echoed with Braig's screams.

* * *

"Commander?" Captain Fair's tone was laced with concern. "Leonhart came to fetch me. He said you were sick but wouldn't go see a healer."

"Fuckov," Braig slurred, kneeling with the crown of his skull pressed against the gym wall to keep it from unscrewing. He didn't know why his head and chest suddenly hurt so badly, but it felt like his whole heart was trying to prise his ribcage apart from the inside and tap-dance to the Radiant Garden National Anthem.

He'd been fine until Squall arrived for training. Though excruciating at the time, in addition to recording details about his heart, Braig's experiences on the lab table seemed to have increased his physical prowess. He'd refused to look at the results on principle, but the changes to his body were less easy to ignore.

He was hyper-aware, his skin more sensitive than before and his reflexes sharper than they'd been even during the war, when adrenaline and constant battle had him at his peak. There's been some nausea at first, and shakiness, like his skin couldn't contain all the energy inside him and kept trying to slough off like a snake's, but after the first restless night in his quarters that'd passed. He'd actually been looking forward to sparring with Squall today, since the kid's hand-to-hand was about equal to his own before the treatment. Now he could properly stretch Squall's skills again, giving him something to aim for; something to try and beat. Squall was the kind of person who needed a clear goal, whether it was to come top in his classes (no longer a challenge), to keep his little buddy safe from bullies (also not a problem after rumours started spreading that if you threatened Strife or Leonhart, they made you vanish), or to become the youngest ever Captain of the Royal Guard.

Yet the moment Squall arrived, Braig had undergone what felt like a mini stroke. It had left him helpless and panting against the wall, not even aware Squall had left until that bastard Fair arrived.

"We need to get you to sickbay," Fair said, trying to hook Braig's arm around his neck and hoist him to his feet.

"Isaidfuckoff!" Braig's words came out faster than he'd intended, like he was hyped on the biggest caffeine jolt of his life. He only realised he'd shove Fair when the other man hit the wall and immediately fell into a combat stance, fists raised and weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

"I don't want to hurt you, Commander, but I will if I have to. You already need to see a healer, so I don't mind cracking your head a little to get you there."

"You?" Braig laughed. "Hurt _me_? As if."

"You're not well."

"I'm fine. I'm _better_ than fine." Already the queasiness was passing, as if by physically exerting himself he was burning off the energy buzzing inside him like a swarm of bees stinging his internal organs. "But if you _want _to have a go around, then that's okay by me."

Fair lowered his fists a smidge. "He was right. You're not yourself."

A thought occurred to Braig. He frowned. "Why did he run to _you_? You're not even supposed to be in this building."

"I wasn't. I was in my quarters. My leave _does_ start today, after all. I was going to take the boat to the Dazzle Islands for a week of R-n'-R. He only just caught me."

For the first time, Braig noticed Fair was in civvies instead of his usual uniform – a variant of the Royal Guards', just like Braig's, to signify the destination of those they trained. Well, if they were lucky enough not to get themselves bundled off to the air force long enough to survive the training.

Fair shrugged. "I guess Squall just wanted to go to someone he could trust, since it's you he was worried about."

Squall. Not Leonhart. And _trust_? Squall didn't like or trust anyone except his father, Strife and Braig, and the jury was out on whether he actually _knew _his father well enough to count him in that select group. Brag had been watching, and noted the distance between the two whenever they met up. Squall obviously wanted to make his father proud, and Laguna equally obviously wanted his son to be a success, but there was something overformal about the way they interacted. Laguna never put his arm around Squall's shoulders, or spoke to him in anything like a comforting voice. His tone was always stilted, as if he genuinely didn't know what he could talk about with this gangly teenager he shared blood with but rarely saw. Braig thought it was like Squall's life was a play, Radiant Garden the stage, and Laguna had been handed the script to a part he wasn't a good enough actor to play.

Perhaps if Laguna was more like Zack Fair he and Squall would have gotten on better. Fair was always jovial, everybody's pal, and conversation never stopped flowing when he was around.

But did Squall really think so much of him?

Squall admired a lot of people, sure, but he didn't _trust_ them – not even Dilan. Braig felt like ripping Fair's head right off with his bare hands. He was filled with the assurance that he could _do_ it, too. His new strength gave him the kind of confidence usually reserved for only the very drunk, who didn't have his capability of following through on threats.

Instead he capped his anger and stood straighter, dropping his hands to his sides and unclenching his fists. "Is he here?"

Fair mimicked his stance, visibly relaxing. "No, I sent him back to his dorm and told him there'd be no practise today. I figured that if you were really that bad he shouldn't see you that way. But you're looking a whole lot better. Wow. That's some quick recovery."

"Good." Without further ado, Braig flew at him with breathtaking speed, and punched him so hard his head smashed against the wall. Fair, caught by surprise, slid down in a heap. Braig crouched next to him, bunching his collar in one fist to pull the other man's face close. "It's Cadet Leonhart to you," he snarled, even though Fair couldn't hear him.

* * *

"I can't believe you were so foolish," Dilan said, though he didn't stop prepping the machine. They all knew how to do it now.

"Nobody will miss him for a week," Braig replied.

"And then?"

"Then what? Xehanort said he wanted someone who exhibits more light-based behaviour than the subjects we've been using so far. Fair's heart practically glows in thedark. You could use him as a nightlight." He shifted from foot to foot, antsy again. One punch hadn't been nearly enough to satisfy him, though the sight of Fair's bleeding head wound had at least dispelled his bloodlust long enough to transport him here without getting caught

"I did." They both turned to see Xehanort descending the stairs, eyes fixed on the experiment table. "An admirable choice, Braig. He will do quite nicely."

Braig squinted at him. Xehanort had that wild look again, though he wore it well. If you didn't know him you wouldn't be able to tell he was juiced – probably from another go at reading the darkness and light in his own heart. He had some crazy idea that souls and memories could be stored in the heart, and that there was some way of unlocking them if only you could safely open the light side the same way they'd thus far only been able to rupture the dark. Consequently, bringing him Fair was probably playing right into his hands, since Fair's light _had_ to eclipse any darkness in him, therefore it should be easier to focus on the light to try unlocking it than the mostly dark hearts they'd used up to now.

But something was bothering Braig – enough that he couldn't even enjoy it when Fair blinked back to consciousness.

"What … Where am I? What the hell is going on here?"

"Commence the probe," Xehanort said calmly.

Fair screamed loud and long, breaking Braig from his reverie. He watched his colleague writhe and yell, until Fair's words dissolved into incoherent noises. When Dilan reached to turn the machine off Braig rushed over to wrench his hand away.

"No!"

Fair's spine arched in a familiar pattern, but instead of a shadow creature seeping out from under the machine, his entire body simply dissolved, and what looked like a crystal heart whirled where it'd been before also vanishing without trace. It was over in seconds, too fast for them to attempt containing it. Fair's dying shriek echoed around them when his body was already gone.

"Fascinating," Xehanort breathed. "A physical manifestation of the inner heart, but no Heartless."

"No what?"

"It's what I've decided to call the shadow creatures. They're made from corrupt hearts, leaving their hosts heartless; therefore it seemed an appropriate name."

It sounded stupid and kitschy to Braig, but he said nothing until Xehanort stated they needed another pure heart like Fair's to test, so they could contain the crystal remains – evidence of the light inside their inner heart eclipsing the darkness – the way they'd already gathered so many of the Heartless creatures.

"I have another subject I can bring you," Braig said before anyone else could make a suggestion.

"Your training programme is just full of what we need, isn't it?"

But Dilan frowned. "This strikes me as a bad idea -"

"Shut up, Dilan. I know what I'm doing," Braig retorted. He paused. "Although you can help me make it look less suspicious …"

And so it was that Cadet Strife, having been scouted by the head of the department itself, was summoned to Dilan's headquarters to begin his retraining as a law enforcer. It left him with little time for his erstwhile friends, including Squall Leonhart and a girl in his own class named Tifa Lockhart. Strife, it appeared, liked the new friends he made over there better than the ones he'd left behind, both of whom were surprised at how he ditched them when he relocated to the law enforcer cadet dorm on the other side of Radiant Garden.

"Don't worry, kid," Braig said when Squall became morose at losing his only friend. In a rare show of … something (he wasn't sure what), Braig slung his arm around Squall's shoulders and said gruffly, "You've still got me."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	5. Spiralling Beyond Control

**A/N****:** I usually hate to whine about reviews and such, but … I'll admit to feeling disappointment that even those who have put this fic on their fav and alert lists haven't bothered to leave a line saying hey. Love it or loathe it, I'd still like to know what people think.

* * *

**5. Spiralling Beyond Control**

* * *

General Sephiroth of the Resplendia National Guard arrived in Radiant Garden as part of a political party sent to attend Lord Ansem's yearly ball. The ball honoured those who'd fallen on all sides during the war, and was a glittering highlight of Radiant Garden's rise to greatness following that violent time.

From the moment he arrived, rooted to his king's side but eyes darting everywhere, it was clear Sephiroth was going to be trouble. As a high-ranking official Braig was part of the gathering that met the dignitaries, and was also the one who fielded the General when his king gave him permission to mingle.

"Where is Captain Fair?" Sephiroth asked after only a few minutes, just as inadequate at smalltalk as Braig.

"You know Captain Fair?"

"Zack and I know each other of old. We trained together when we were just cadets, before I departed for Resplendia." Sephiroth's eyes went to the line of boys and girls chosen from each training programme, all dressed in their uniforms and saluting like crazy until they were told to stop. The cadet versions of Air Force, Royal Guard and Law Enforcer were ranged side by side with Healer, Scientist and Tutor colours.

Of course Squall was in that line, as well as the Lockheart girl, who'd turned out to be extremely talented in hand-to-hand combat despite her slight frame and burgeoning female shape. She was top in her class, as well as the top-ranking female Royal Guard cadet overall, which had earned her this place in today's ceremony. Highwind's cadets were nearest Braig's, though neither the boy nor the girl could compare. It was like holding candles against stars and expecting their shine to compete.

Highwind stood behind his choices, chewing on a toothpick because he wasn't allowed to smoke at public functions. When he spotted Sephiroth and Braig standing together he came over, apparently glad to escape the gaze of the public eye. Highwind hated attention, and with god reason. Braig may have hated his dress uniform, but at least he didn't look like a constipated chimp at a tea party.

"Hey, Seph," said Highwind.

"Don't call me that."

"Fine, then I'll call you Shirley. How you been?"

"You two know each other as well?" Braig looked from one to the other disbelievingly. Sephiroth had been on the other side during the war. It was him whom Braig had kept in mind when developing Renzokuken.

"Sure we do." Highwind spat his mangled toothpick onto the floor and pulled another from a pack like a pointy wooden cigarette.

"You know each other of old," Braig guessed.

"You might say that. I tried to drop a bomb on him once and he threw it back onto my fucking ship. Then he pulled me and all my crew from the wreckage when we crashed into a mountain. Not one casualty, if you can believe it."

It was rumoured that General Sephiroth wasn't entirely human, or at least had non-human blood somewhere in his family tree, which accounted for his astounding fighting skills and cat-like eyes. he could lift things more than twice his own weight, hurl them great distances, jump higher and further than any man should be able to, and some said his senses were so good he could not only hear a mouse fart thirty miles away, he could also pick out what it had for lunch based on the smell. Braig wasn't sure how much stock he put in _all _the stories, but reports of Sephiroth's prowess during the war were rife – though they always came with the proviso that he abhorred killing and would only ever incapacitate enemies, even in mass battles.

"Have you seen Zack around? I had hoped to speak with him today."

"Captain Fair?" Highwind frowned. "Not lately. Hey, that's a point. Don't he work with you?" Highwind jabbed a finger in Braig's chest, then gurgled when Braig grabbed and twisted it back so far its owner was nearly bent double to avoid it breaking.

Braig released him suddenly. "Not recently. He's been on leave in the Dazzle Islands." Then he hurried away in case there were any more outbursts he couldn't control while trapped in a large, influential crowd, with Xehanort glaring at him across the room.

He didn't see the look that passed between Sephiroth and Highwind in his wake, or the grim set of the General's eyebrows. It's possible he would've been quicker to warn his co-conspirators if he had, but unlikely it would've made any difference.

* * *

Xehanort had been _feeding_ the Heartless. It was all there in the notes, as if the increased number of them, despite the lack of recent experiments with that damn Resplendian party around, wasn't evidence enough. Living samples, non-living samples, self-propagation, consumption of matter – Braig only understood part of what he was reading, but he understood enough.

Things were starting to spiral. It was clear to him now that it was only a matter of time before everything blew wide open. No way could they keep all this secret for much longer, especially not with that tenacious bastard Sephiroth sniffing around. Braig had only just evaded him today to come down here, and the headway Xehanort and the others had made in his absence was staggering.

The weird thing was that he couldn't actually bring himself to care; not when he'd spotted a familiar blond head amidst the fodder in the dungeons, which Xehanort had converted into modern holding cells and used to store his 'living samples' before tossing them in with the Heartless to see what happened.

"Why haven't you killed that Strife kid? You've had hold of him for _weeks_."

"An interesting case, that one," Even said mildly, consulting his carefully catalogued notes. He was the only one around; otherwise Braig would've gone to someone less likely to make him want to rake his fingernails down the walls. "So much light within his heart that he can withstand ridiculous amounts of trauma, as well as exposure to pure darkness, without any of it corrupting him. His mental state has deteriorated as a result, but his heart has yet to rupture. Even Captain Fair wasn't this strong. We were due to test the boy again, but other things came up and he was shelved."

"Other things like what?" Braig asked in a dangerously soft voice.

Even heard it and squared his shoulders. "I don't take orders from you."

Instantly, Braig had the scientist in a chokehold, but Even surprised him by exhibiting the same level of strength plus the aptitude to use it. Braig stared into snakelike eyes, struggling for breath, his head ringing where it'd smack against the wall and his feet suspended above the floor.

"It appears brute force does have its merits after all." Even laughed. It was a terrible sound, like he'd never practised before and knew what laughter _was_, but not how to do it.

Braig rolled his eyes and punted the guy in the stomach with both feet. Even shot away from him, but Braig followed and they rolled over and over, each trying to get the upper hand. Braig was trying to dig out the other man's eyeballs with his thumbs when they were forcibly wrenched apart and dangled above the ground by an unseen energy.

Xehanort stood at the bottom of the staircase, a mixture of anger and joy warring for supremacy on his face. "We are verging on the most significant discovery of all time," he hissed, "a discovery that will cement our places in history, and you two are rolling around on the floor like _children_."

His arms were raised. When he clenched his fists, Braig felt like something was crushing the life out of him. He heard Even cry out in pain too, and when the sensation at last subsided they were both breathless and bruised.

"I'm s-sorry, my superior," Even gasped obsequiously, but Xehanort ignored him.

"Tonight I have made what might be the most momentous breakthrough yet. At this very moment, those fool guests of Ansem's are witnessing a meteor shower that they think is just a display of Nature's beauty." If possible, Xehanort's laughter was even worse to hear than Even's. "They have no idea what it is they're looking at."

"And what … are they looking at?" Even panted.

Xehanort's gaze was unfocussed, as though he was looking back at a distant memory – but that couldn't be it, because the guy had no memory of the time before Ansem found his broken body and brought him back to Radiant Garden for their healers to nurse back to health.

"The breaking of the barriers between worlds," he said, as if in surprise that he knew such a thing.

Abruptly, he released Braig and Even, who tumbled to the floor and stayed there, aching too much to move.

"I have seen the heart of this entire world," Xehanort whispered, more than a hint of madness in his voice. Braig recognised the sound of a man pushed to his limits, recalling the stark faces of soldiers he'd fought alongside until their minds snapped under the torment of war. Whatever Xehanort had seen tonight, it had done more damage to his mind than a dozen sessions in the heart-probing machine. "Surely only its true ruler should be able to witness such a thing. Surely only Ansem … Ansem is the ruler of Radiant Garden, the hub of progress on this world, so he should have … but he can't be … no, he can't be the true ruler; the true Ansem."

Braig looked up to see Xehanort's retreating form dash up the stairs and slam the door behind him.

* * *

The representatives from Wutai arrived after the Resplendians, and those of several other nations too. The ball hadn't started yet and already a party atmosphere pervaded the castle.

The queen of the Dazzle Islands was fat and wreathed in exotic silks that had been artfully arranged across the throne that was carried down Radiant Garden's streets. She brought jugglers and acrobats as well as the regular dignitaries that accompanied rulers to this occasion. Cadets fought for a better look out of their dorm windows when the pretty young veil dancers went past in their bikinis, and the female cadets blushed like regular teenage girls when the handsome sword swallower winked at them. It was more like a circus parade than a diplomatic convoy.

The Wutai group were much more demure, though their five year old princess had come along with them. She was the most precocious brat Braig had ever had the misfortune to have leap on him for a piggyback ride. Apparently she spent most of her time in Wutai escaping her bodyguards, so her father, King Godo, had brought her along in the vain hope she might behave herself more if not left alone in the royal palace.

"I blame the lack of motherly influence in her life," he said to Lord Ansem when she was discovered trying to bury her crown in one of the rose gardens to grow a Treasure Tree. She'd flung mud at the cadets who found her and had to be fetched down from the top of a pagoda, where she'd climbed only to get her foot stuck.

"You're a poopy-head," the princess cheerfully informed Squall, the cadet who'd found her and was now holding her at arm's length. "But it was way cool how you cut me free with that gunblade thingy. Daddy, I want a gunblade. I want a gunblade _now._"

"Yuffie, you can't have a gunbl-"

"_I want a gunblade_! Actually, wait, no I don't. I want you to use your gunblade to shoot things when I tell you to, Squall."

"I only take orders from my commanding officer, Highness."

"Quit calling me Highness. I'm Yuffie. You don't hear me calling you Cadet all the time, do you?"

Squall cast a helpless look at Braig, who rolled his eyes and said nothing, but allowed the kid to take shelter in his office when the princess decided the best way to get her own pet gunblader was to marry one, and started trailing Squall around the castle to convince him he should be betrothed to her.

On the day of the ball the castle was teeming. It seemed like Braig couldn't go anywhere without running into someone or something designed to piss him off. He retreated to his quarters when he nearly stabbed a stilt-walker with his own stilts.

He was back to feeling restless and edgy, his skin too tight and his energy levels through the roof. What he needed was a good fight, or at least a spar to help him burn off some excess, but all classes and mentoring sessions were cancelled until after the ball. Even the shooting range was off-limits for him while he was needed to make polite smalltalk and pretend he didn't want to put a crossbow bolt through every fucker in range.

Most people were glad for the break, but not Braig and the other 'apprentices', as they'd come to call themselves, since they followed Xehanort around like Ienzo used to follow Even. You noticed them immediately in a crowd, because they were the ones twitching.

Braig was twitchier than most. He knew Sephiroth was watching him, and the burn of the General's eyes between his shoulder-blades was constant whenever they were in the same room. Captain Fair still hadn't returned from the Dazzle Islands, and the Queen had no knowledge of him because he'd arrived there as a civilian. Under Sephiroth's suspiciously bleak gaze, Zack had been officially listed as missing. Both Radiant Garden law enforcers and their Dazzle Island equivalents were working his case, but everyone presumed Captain Fair could take care of himself, so there wasn't much motivation with the ball to concentrate on first.

Braig knew Sephiroth didn't buy the story for an instant. It was only his lack of evidence and the delicate political balance he was forced to preserve that prevented him from openly accusing Braig of wrongdoing. Dignitaries, though always smiling, were notoriously over-sensitive. Everyone still remembered the war, when they'd each swapped sides so many times they often felt like they should just kill their own troops to save the bother of today's allies doing it as tomorrow's enemies.

Sometimes there had been rumours of another war going on alongside their own, between warriors so powerful they made eve General Sephiroth look like a kitten that'd been hit by a cart and was crawling along on three legs. However, nobody had ever produced any hard evidence to support these rumours, and everyone was so focussed on survival and predicting who they'd have to fight next that rumours remained just that.

Only Braig knew beyond doubt that they were true, since he'd actually _met_ one of the warriors from the parallel war.

Then came the day that a strange airship appeared in the sky over Radiant Garden, and a dignitary emerged who hadn't been invited to the ball because nobody had even known he, his nation, or indeed his _world_ even existed.

Braig had heard of lands where animals had evolved alongside humans, but he'd never seen a citizen of one before. Anxious to distance himself from Sephiroth's stare, he lurked outside Lord Ansem's study, trying to get Captain Leonhart to let him eavesdrop. Braig wanted another look at the strange guest that had even Xehanort's interest piqued.

What the mouse-man said made Xehanort see this as an opportunity to explain recent events by revealing his brilliance at the expense of only a few measly lives. Yet where Xehanort concerned himself with trying to finally let Lord Ansem know of the inroads they'd made in understanding the nature of the heart, Braig was caught by only one word: _keyblade_.

… _A sword shaped like a giant key, clutched in a gold warrior's hand …_

In the end Xehanort failed to tell Lord Ansem what they'd been up to – not because he lost his nerve, but because the old man wouldn't listen to what he had to say. Lord Ansem let Xehanort get into his office while the mouse-man was there, but no further than the threshold, and didn't even give Xehanort the opportunity to begin before cutting him off in his typical self-righteous way. Xehanort stalked away, blazing with that special energy of his. Marble busts exploded in his wake, plant pots overturned, and the stained glass in several windows melted into bubbling goo that slid down the walls.

Braig, however, remained outside the study, and when Ansem and his guest emerged he was about to launch himself upon them, Royal Guards or no Royal Guards. He was going to shake the knowledge he wanted from the mouse-man ("How do I travel between worlds to find a warrior wearing golden armour who carries a keyblade? Tell me, or I'll turn your ears into rice paper, you freak!") When a hand clamped over his mouth and dragged him backwards into the shadows.

"What are you doing?" Dilan hissed.

Braig twisted his face free. "None of your fucking business."

"Xehanort wants to see all of us. Right now. In the lab."

Braig was about to tell him where he could stick the snubbed Xehanort's summons, but Ansem and the mouse had already entered the elevator. There would be no opportunity to confront them once they reached the swarm of other dignitaries, all eager to hear where the mouse had come from and why he was there. Sephiroth was downstairs, and some sixth sense told Braig that no matter how much stronger he was now, General Sephiroth possessed powers that could crush him without even breaking a sweat.

He went with Dilan and stood grudgingly in a lab beneath the dungeons and holding cells, awaiting Xehanort's latest lecture on how they were going to change history. Braig was nearing his threshold on how much bullshit rhetoric he could stomach, even if it was Xehanort doing the talking.

Or rather _Ansem_, as he revealed he wanted to be known now.

"Only the true ruler should be destined to do what I'm doing, and only the true ruler should've been _able_ to achieve what I've achieved. Ansem is the true ruler, and I have achieved the true ruler's goals, therefore I _must_ be him, or at least a new form of an old model."

It was loony. He had clearly lost it. Yet despite his twisted identity crisis, Xehanort had never been more lucid – or more forceful. The air crackled with his telekinesis and the promise of even more intimidating powers that he hadn't yet shown them. The combination of charisma and threat was so compelling that they fell into line without much of a fight – changing his name and calling himself the 'true ruler' of this world was crazy, but not the craziest thing they'd ever come across. Going into the heart-probing machine more than once had to rate at the top of that pyramid, closely followed by what he said they were going to do next.

"You want to release the Heartless we've collected at the _ball_?" Dilan said, aghast not because of what the creatures would do to the guests there, but because he couldn't bear the thought of just letting all their hard work run free. He'd risked a lot, pulling felons from their cells and forging paperwork to make it appear they'd been released without charge.

"Those fools have no concept of what I plan for this world. They're all narrow-minded idiots who would stand in the way of progress simply because it affects their tiny lives badly in the short-term."

He launched into another diatribe, but Braig had already stopped listening, mind wandering back to the word 'keyblade', and how he was going to get the little mouse-man alone to force the answers he wanted from him.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	6. The Beginning of the End

* * *

**6. The Beginning of the End**

* * *

"He's _gone_?"

"He left this morning in his 'Gummi Ship'."

Braig loosed a frustrated cry and punched the wall so hard it bloodied his knuckles.

Aeleus remained impassive. "Such outbursts are wasteful and futile. You would be better expending your energy in preparation for the plan."

The sky had already darkened with oncoming evening, and in the Great Hall the band was tuning up, ready to welcome the glittering array of guests and their entertainers and bodyguards.

Right now, Braig could happily have set fire to the whole shebang, Xehanort's wrath be damned. His anger felt so much sharper because of the excess energy writhing within him. It writhed like an overturned basket of snakes. He really felt he was going to go crazy or rupture his own guts if he didn't find some way of getting rid of it. Pushing past Aeleus, he decided to use his privileges as a high-ranking officer and override the shooting range's security codes.

"Ansem won't be pleased," Aeleus cautioned, not referring to Ansem the Wise.

"He can go fuck himself. What's he up to while we scurry around like rats in wheels, anyhow?"

"He is attending to a matter with Lord Ansem."

"As if." Braig left, thinking that if Xehanort, or Ansem, or whatever the hell he wanted to be called now, was allowed some downtime before they committed mass murder, then damn it, so was he. He no longer cared _what_ they were about to do – he was too frustrated and preoccupied with his own discomfort.

On his way through the corridors, however, he spotted Squall standing in an alcove with Cadet Lockheart. Squall's hand was clamped between the smaller ones of a slender little girl who wore the robes of the healers, though she was too young to be one.

She jerked her head up at Braig's approach, revealing the insignia of a trainee, and eyes as green as Sephiroth's. Braig paused, held by them until Squall spoke.

"Commander? Are you all right?"

Braig knew he looked like shit. He hadn't changed into his dress uniform, as Lord Ansem had decreed he should, and his hair was a mass of knots and dark greasy tangles working their way loose from his ponytail. From the way the two girls cowered slightly, he knew words like 'deranged' and 'unstable' could be used to describe his appearance, along with 'hobo', 'down-and-out' and 'nuttier than a bag of almonds'.

Squall didn't cower, though. Not his Squall. The boy looked up at him questioningly; genuinely concerned that something was wrong with his mentor.

"I'm fine. What happened to you?"

"Oh, I got in a little fight with one of the Resplendian cadets when he tried to, um …" Squall blushed. Somehow that was even more startling than the news about the mouse-man.

"When he tried to feel my boobs," Cadet Lockheart provided. "Aerith here is just fixing his knuckles. We knew she wouldn't tell on us because she's only a trainee and doesn't have to fill out so many forms for every little thing, because that's what her mentor's for."

Braig knew he was supposed to reprimand them for even a minor fight with any member of the guests' parties, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Lockheart continued to chatter, filling up the silence out of nervousness or because she like the sound of her own voice; he didn't know and he didn't care. What he _did_ know was that Squall had been playing hero again, protecting others and getting himself hurt in the process, just like he always used to do for Strife.

The thought had insurmountable rage uncurling inside Braig. He'd removed the two other people Squall trusted, and he'd just gone and replaced them with other attachments, despite supposedly being the boy who couldn't make friends. Lockheart clearly meant something to him. Was this healer a threat, too? Braig had never seen them together before, but that didn't mean anything. The healers usually kept themselves apart from the rest of Radiant Garden. They even had their own quarters, separate from the castle, but it wasn't like they _stayed _in Healer House all the time. For all he knew, this girl could be an even greater threat than Strife or Captain Fair. Something like jealousy stabbed Braig like an icicle through the back. He glared at the two girls until all talking ceased.

"Are you … mad with me?" Squall asked, uncertain. He was sixteen now, much taller than he'd been when Braig first laid eyes on him. He carried his gunblade at his hip, though it had to be uncomfortable there. Usually he had it strapped across his back in a magnetic bracer, but dress uniform was all about appearances.

A door opened off the Great Hall – a servant entrance, which made it unusual to see Lord Ansem being led through by his favourite apprentice. The man formerly known as Xehanort was talking rapidly, hand sweeping in wide arcs. Lord Ansem looked intrigued by whatever he was saying, but his face showed traces of apprehension as well. Behind them came Captain Leonheart, focussed as ever on his job. He didn't even look over at the kids in the alcove as he followed down the hall and turned left out of sight.

Braig knew in an instant that if he left Squall here he would die when the Heartless were released. All the potential he had nurtured and aggressively guarded would be lost.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

"Yes, I'm mad as hell. You know you weren't supposed to engage any of the visitors under _any_ circumstances. Come with me, Cadet Leonheart."

"But sir, it wasn't his fault!" Lockheart protested.

Braig silenced her with a look. "Go into the ball. Leonheart won't be joining you. He'll be confined to his dorm for the rest of the evening."

"But sir -"

"Am I not making myself clear?" Braig roared, causing them all to jump back. Even Squall registered surprise. "I'm not interested in your excuses, girl, and I am not interested in _you_ either. Get the fuck out of my sight. And as for you," he said, rounding on the wide-eyed healer, "get back to your mentor before I report you for not following protocol. You shouldn't be conducting any healing without a qualified healer present, and you know it."

Both girls scurried off. Braig couldn't care less about them – in fact, if they were killed, all the better. That way Squall would be reliant on him. The thought of that made Braig feel instantly better, in spite of the crushing disappointment still thrumming through him at missing his opportunity with the mouse.

Squall fell into step behind him. Neither said a word as they negotiated the corridors away from the Great Hall. All cadets who hadn't been invited to the ball had been turned into waiters, servers and other such things for the evening. The further they got, the emptier the corridors became, until there was nothing to break the silence but the sound of their own footsteps.

"Inside," Braig said after unlocking the dorm Squall shared with three other boys. The room was plain and basic in design, but in the way of all teenage boys it had been decorated with pictures of half-naked women and people they admired. Braig noted with interest that Squall's bunk was devoid of such decoration.

"Commander Braig?" Squall said when he turned to go. "I _am_ sorry, sir. I didn't mean to let you down."

"Duly noted, Leonheart."

"It's just … you've done so much for me over the years. And I am grateful, sir. I just wanted you to know that. I don't know what I would've done without you there to fight in my corner when I needed someone on my side, and I'm sorry if I've disappointed you tonight, especially on such a special occasion and with me being one of the Royal Guard representatives and … everything."

Actually he couldn't give a flying fuck about any 'special occasion', but Braig paused and regarded the boy. Squall sat on his bunk, eyes downcast and despondent at being denied this reward for his successes, but resolved to it nevertheless. There was that fierce determination to do well again, which had caused him to rise above the rest despite his age and whatever misfortune befell him. Squall practically glowed with it. Braig almost thought he could see the light radiating outwards from his chest, causing a magnetic reaction in Braig's own changed heart. The energy that made his skin crawl and his thoughts jump around like a jackrabbit on hot coals surged to the surface, until his feverish mind _demanded _he burn off the surfeit, right now, or grab Revolver and fall on the blade.

"You haven't disappointed me, Squall."

"That's good to know, sir."

"Far from it."

Squall looked up, startled by his mentor's voice; like Braig was only just holding back his temper with both hands and a cattle prod. "Commander, are you feeling all right?" Coupled with Braig's appearance and general agitation, Squall was alert. He'd obviously worked out that something was very wrong with him, though Squall's own adherence to protocol meant asking personal questions of his superior was tricky. However, in that moment the connection he had with Braig came first, and he asked the question he'd obviously wanted to ever since Braig ran into him.

"Not really, no. In fact," Braig chuckled without humour, "I feel pretty fucking terrible, if you must know."

Squall rose to his feet. "In that case, you need to go to the healers, sir."

"Fuck the healers. Fuck this entire stinking city. Fuck _everything_. I'll be all right if … if I just … " Braig rubbed reflexively at his chest, leaning back against the door for support as his heart skipped enough beats that his pulse went _a capella_. The door clicked shut against his weight, but Braig hardly noticed. "Nggh … sweet Shiva …"

"Commander!" Squall was instantly at his side, trying to support him like he thought Braig was about to fall over. "Can you feel your arms, sir?"

"What?"

"Is that pain in your chest like really bad indigestion?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Sir, I think you may be having a heart attack."

Braig stared at him. Then he threw back his head and laughed. That was simultaneously the funniest and least funny thing he'd ever heard in his life. Squall was still Squall, his stoicism unable to conceal concern for those he cared about. That characteristic had allowed him to hit the nail on the head but also get completely the wrong end of the stick.

"A heart attack," Braig wheezed. "A _heart attack_! You think I'm having a _coronary_?"

Squall frowned. "I don't see what's so funny, sir. It could be serious. Commander, you could _die_ if you don't go to the healers right now."

"I'll probably die anyway, whether I go or not."

"Sir, that's crazy talk. I'm not going to let you die." Squall's frown deepened in resolve.

Braig's fist shot out so fast even he wasn't fully aware of it moving. It crashed into the side of Squall's skull, sending him reeling.

"C'mon, kid. I know you can fight better than _that_! What's with that reaction time?"

Squall staggered sideways, caught completely off his guard. In that instant Braig was upon him again. He buried the knuckles of his other fist deep into Squall's stomach, driving the air from his lungs, followed by a swift uppercut that laid him out cold on the floor. Squall hadn't even had chance to fight back against Braig's increased strength and speed, which was a disappointment.

Braig's chest had eased the moment he sprang into action, though it still provided a background ache. Like Captain Fair before him, Squall hadn't put up enough of a fight for that blasted restlessness to fully dispel. He stared at the crumpled boy, whom he'd worked so hard to protect and safeguard, and wondered why he didn't feel worse about attacking him when he'd removed him from the Great Hall specifically to prevent him from being attacked.

Perhaps because he hadn't protected Squall out of any real affection, but out of possessiveness, as one might grab an expensive antique and hide under the table with it during an earthquake. _He _had discovered this wonderboy; _he_ had expended the time and effort to take that raw talent and mould Squall into what he was today, therefore what motivated Braig was a sense of ownership rather than actual fondness. Braig wasn't _fond _of anyone, not even himself or his 'brothers' from the Blood Trio.

Even was right, damn him; everything was about power, who was strongest, and where you stood in relation to other people's strength. That was a code of etiquette Braig understood far better than how to bow to royalty and which fork to use at dinner. Squall was stronger than all his classmates, and even a few of his instructors, but Braig was stronger still.

Squall had been stamped as his and his alone from the day he shot ten rounds through a bulls-eye and said he was going to be Captain of the Royal Guard. Squall had said that with the same decisiveness the golden warrior used just before he humiliated Braig. That warrior had pushed Braig off the top rung on the ladder of power, to where Lord Ansem pushed him down even further, until he was in a position where he could only watch the power of others' grow in his care, never again allowed to show his fangs.

Frustration welled within Braig once more. His mind raced and popped along with his hammering chest. He hauled Squall up by his armpits, then paused, undid the sword belt holding Revolver and attached it around his own waist. The kid was toned, his arms developed by learning to swing a gunblade one-handed and trying to master Renzokuken. When Braig gathered him into his arms he felt the muscles in the curve of the kid's back, though Squall wasn't exactly tipping the scales. Or maybe that was just Braig's enhanced strength sending him wacky signals that didn't match what his brain thought his limits were. He was readjusting his stance to compensate for the lack of effort when the door burst open.

"What the fucking fuck?"

Braig narrowed his good eye at Highwind, automatically calculating how fast he'd have to be to cut the man's throat before Squall could hit the floor.

"Those girls _said_ you'd come down here. What the hell happened to _him_?" Highwind pointed at Squall, limp in Braig's arms.

"He tripped and hit his head off the bedside cabinet. I'm taking him to see the healers. Get outta the way."

"Yeah, right. Like you could _find_ any healers with all them damn _monsters_. We're under attack."

Braig froze. So it had started already.

"We need all available fighters _pronto_, and I hate your guts, Braig, but I know you're a damn sight better at taking out multiple enemies from a distance than anyone -" Highwind stopped, looking at the bit of Braig's hand visible under Squall's arm. "Funny," he said. "How'd the blood from the kid's head wound get on your knuckles and not on the cabinet?" He squinted at Braig. "Those monsters came from somewhere inside the castle, I reckon. And you're here instead of at the ball, where you should be. And you're in regular uniform. Where _exactly_ were you planning on running off to with that boy, Braig?"

Braig might have laughed. Or maybe he might have scoffed. Or maybe he might have just blown a hole through Highwind's head at what he was obviously implying. The idiot thought he was _running away_!

Braig let Squall's feet touch the floor, keeping the rest of him upright with his right arm. He was right-handed with a pen, but ambidextrous with weapons, so it was easy to pull the pistol from the holster on his leg and nail Highwind between the eyes.

Or at least it would've been if the fucker hadn't thrown himself sideways, taking the bullet in the shoulder instead. Blood sprayed upward, splattering against the wall and doorjamb, but Braig knew in an instant that he hadn't hit a major artery.

"Shit," Highwind hissed, clutching his wound and rushing into the corridor.

Braig considered the merits of following just to make sure he died. It rated as high on his personal priority list as getting his ass back to the Great Hall so Xehanort-Ansem couldn't accuse him of skimping out. Returning to the Great Hall appealed to his sense of self-preservation, while killing Highwind was more a case of making himself feel better. Then again, both options would mean leaving Squall here, and on the off-chance Highwind made it out alive, he could come back for the boy, or alert someone else to come and take him away.

Unacceptable.

Braig slung Squall over his shoulder, pinning the kid's legs against his own chest with one arm. It was like carrying a rag doll. He checked the pistol before running after Highwind to finish the job before the fucker could reach anyone.

Except that apparently Highwind was familiar with the secret passageways that littered the castle. Braig managed to catch him in the heel as he disappeared around the panel in the wall, blowing it into shards and pulp, but it was too late. To follow him was to risk Xehanort-Ansem's wrath. He'd just have to hope the two injuries were enough to down Highwind with shock or blood loss.

Braig cursed and turned the other direction. He entered another secret passageway, which linked directly to the deserted upper hall near the top of the laboratory's staircase. He'd used it several times before when meeting surreptitiously with the other apprentices.

There was nobody there when he emerged at the other end, since all the Heartless had headed straight for the plethora of pulsing hot 'living samples' in the Great Hall. Braig could hear distant screaming. He paid it no mind.

He descended to the first level, which led to the dungeon corridor. Anybody who didn't know of the lab would think the staircase ended there, which had made it the perfect place to hide unsavoury activities; amidst the unsavoury characters that inhabited even a paradise like Radiant Garden.

The cell doors were all open. Apparently the prisoners had been allowed to escape, not knowing that the Heartless would be released minutes later, and that there was nowhere they could run fast enough to escape _them_.

Braig unhooked the catch to the hidden entrance and descended the rest of the way to the lab. He bypassed the main room to begin with, instead going to the now-empty Heartless enclosure. Containers of various sizes lined the walls, all their lids, hatches and doors open. Braig placed Squall into one of the largest and closed the lid, knowing the enchanted glass wouldn't let him suffocate. This was the safest place to be with Heartless running loose. These containers had kept the Heartless locked away for months, and would keep them out just as easily. Perfect.

It looked like a glass coffin, he reflected dispassionately as he left, intending to return to the Great Hall to shoot anyone the Heartless missed, and who tried to leave. By the end of the night the only things alive in Radiant Garden would be himself, the other apprentices, and Squall. What kind of future they'd then face was another matter, but Braig had ceased to think that far ahead. He felt much better after spilling some blood. His senses felt heightened, so when he passed the main lab he heard the distinctive sound of a death rattle even though the door was closed.

He went in. Xehanort-Ansem was at the foot of the stairs. At his feet Captain Leonheart's dead eyes stared into the puddle of blood leaking from his own mouth, the rest of his body sprawled like a rag doll tossed down by an angry child. Braig recognised what would've been his own fate if he'd been crushed by Xehanort-Ansem's telekinesis. There was no sign of the real Lord Ansem anywhere.

"Xeha …" Braig registered the look in the man's eyes and the flexing of his fingers, as if looking for a throat to squeeze. "Ansem?"

"Only one now. Only the true ruler. Only the _true _Ansem remains in this world. I sent the other one to the Realm of Nothingness, since he's nothing. Nothing at all."

Braig stared into eyes made wild with madness. _Nuttier than squirrel shit. Oh yeah, he's drowning in the deep end now._ "The Heartless are in the Great Hall. So are Aeleus and the others."

"I need them back here. The heart of this world … when it opens again I want you all to witness it." Xehanort-Ansem made a gesture with his hand, like drawing a blade across an invisible man's throat. Immediately portals of dark, swirling energy erupted around the room. He reached into one, fumbled around a bit, and then yanked Ienzo out by his collar. The boy looked around, surprised.

"Superior?"

Xehanort-Ansem barked that they should do the same in the other portals. It was like sticking his fist into a barrel of writhing eels, Braig thought as he found the shape of an arm. It tugged out of his grip. Conscious of Xehanort-Ansem's presence at his back, he thrust his hand back in, along with his head and shoulders so he could see what he was doing. They emerged into the Great Hall.

Chaos reigned. The Heartless crawled over everything like cockroaches. People were screaming and running in all directions. Heartless pounced on them, yanking out hearts with the feral abandon of hunters too long denied their prey. Braig knew the feeling. Some people were fighting back, or trying to marshal the crowd to prevent further casualties. He caught sight of the Air Force representative cadets standing back to back, vaguely remembering their names as Vaan and Penelo even as they were swamped and it ceased to matter anymore. A head of much more familiar red hair leapt towards the doomed pair, as his own Captain Reno attempted to play hero. Braig felt nothing except frustration that the noise was distracting him.

He didn't even shudder at the other corpses, which had nothing to do with the Heartless. The thing about panicking mobs is that you get swept up in them whether you want to or not. Fall down and they'll crush you. Blood painted the floor and walls where people had been too slow or stumbled. The sound of someone with a firearm rang out, but Braig wasn't sure whether they were fighting the Heartless or just clearing a path to the exit for themselves.

Braig spotted Even and dragged him backwards. Ienzo had a little trouble getting a grip on Aeleus, but Xehanort-Ansem all but scalped Dilan when he pulled him through by his hair.

When they were all present the portals vanished and Xehanort-Ansem regarded his followers. "Our moment of glory is upon us," he said dramatically. "The false Lord Ansem is finished. Radiant Garden is but the tip of the iceberg. After tonight, nothing will ever be the same again."

"How are we going to recapture all the Heartless?" Aeleus asked. "They've reproduced from all the hearts they've consumed. There are many more now than we have the facilities to contain."

"Recapture them? _Contain _them?" Xehanort-Ansem laughed. "Why would we do that? They are the soldiers in the new world order. They are the means by which my rule will spread to all corners of this world and beyond – an order of purity, where darkness can't be hidden in people's hearts anymore. No more crime. No more sickness. No more poverty or unhappiness."

_Uh, yeah, because everybody will be __**dead**__, apart from us_. Braig thought of the Heartless enclosure. _And Squall. Now his daddy dearest is gone as well, and his little friends are Heartless chow, he only has me. I'm all he's got left_.

Mind fragmenting more by the second, Braig reckoned he could deal with any new world order that promised _that_.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	7. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

* * *

**7. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust**

* * *

Xehanort-Ansem began laying out his plans for this great new world they'd rule, answerable only to themselves and him. He claimed their attention so thoroughly that nobody was expecting it when the door to the lab not only crashed open, but tore off and flew across the room. It slammed against the wall, falling and crushing some of their delicate equipment. Even loosed an outraged shriek, but fell silent at the figure looming over them at the top of the stairs.

Sephiroth was terrifying to behold. Gripping the longest sword Braig had ever seen, he glowered at the six men. "_You_ are behind all this?" His gaze settled on Braig and his jaw set. "I saw you appear from that piece of darkness in the Great Hall. I should have guessed there was more to Zack's disappearance than just a personal vendetta, but I never imagined the rot in Radiant Garden went so deep."

Xehanort-Ansem didn't reply, he just reached out and the air between him and Sephiroth shimmered as if with heat haze. Sephiroth launched himself from the top of the stairs right before the handrail crumbled like it'd been clenched in a giant fist.

"Kill him!" Xehanort-Ansem shouted. "He'll ruin everything. Kill him now!"

Dilan pulled out another extendable spear to match the one already in his hand. Braig knew his body armour used to be littered with them, and couldn't see why Dilan would've stopped carrying his favourite weapons now. Aeleus's massive tomahawk was still in his hand from the Great Hall, and they advanced on Sephiroth together.

Braig made to join them, falling into Blood Trio manoeuvres his body remembered better than his mind, but he'd noticed the other figure at the top of the stairs – the one who'd stepped back into the hallway like a frightened little mouse at Xehanort-Ansem's display of power. Braig rushed up the ruined staircase, pulling Revolver from its scabbard as he went.

By the time he reached the top Captain Trepe had shaken off her fear and was advancing back onto the stairs. She faced him with the authority of one used to dealing with unruly students, but he could see that fear hadn't actually gone away. It was still in her eyes, and written in the patterns of blood and black dust on her dress uniform.

"Commander, how could you?" she demanded. "All those people -"

"What the hell do I care about them? I've kept my mouth shut for too long, Quistis. I'm overdue an opportunity to show my fangs."

"But … the other faculty members. Captain Reno, sir. He's dead. So are the students – I saw Kinneas and Dincht. They had their _hearts _ripped out by those things. And _you _set them loose?"

"No."

Relief briefly washed over her face.

"But if I'd been around, I would've. Those kids were nobodies. Captain Reno was an idiot with a big mouth."

"Commander!"

Avoiding her bullwhip was easy. He'd always considered it a useless weapon in a fight, though she'd tried to convince him countless times that it was just as effective as firearms. They moved down the hall, her trying to wrap the leather of her whip around his throat or Revolver so she could rip it from his hands; him deftly evading every blow and forcing her back. When he fired one of the gunblade's explosive shells she ducked through a doorway and he followed, battle-lust driving him on.

Trepe was pretty good at hand-to-hand, but when he removed hers at the wrists she was at a distinct disadvantage. She stared at the stumps, too shocked to even register the pain, and he separated her head from her neck in the instant she was distracted. Just because he preferred bullets didn't mean he couldn't do the job just as well without them. He _was_ the only gunblade master this side of Resplendia, after all.

Which was when he heard the hammering of fists on glass, and saw the only other gunblader in Radiant Garden on his knees, watching in horror as Braig murdered one of his own. Disbelief cut its curves in Squall's face. The box was soundproofed, but he didn't need to talk to communicate his incredulity and revulsion – and the betrayal burning in his blue eyes.

Braig turned his back on him, made overconfident by the kill and eager to return to the battle with Sephiroth. Blocking the doorway, however, was an irritating gnat with a bo staff.

"I thought you'd have bled out by now."

"Amazing what even trainee healers can do," Highwind gritted, and charged him.

Braig might have finished the injured Highwind in an instant, had it not been for the other body that launched itself through the door and set about him with kicks and punches.

"Squall!" Cadet Lockheart yelled. "Hold on!" She'd obviously followed Highwind down here, judging by the way he grunted and tried to make her stay out of the fight, which she refused to do. "Don't worry, Squall! We'll get you out!"

"Two or two hundred, I'll kill you all," Braig snarled, lost to the frenzy of battle. His head swam and his veins quivered as he used his body for what it had always been meant to do. "Yaargh!"

"Oh gods … Captain Trepe …" Lockheart stumbled at the sight of the woman who'd been in charge of her dorm since she joined the cadets.

"Fuck it, Braig!" Highwind blocked the strike intended to skewer the girl. Bo staff and gunblade locked in a test of strength Braig knew he was destined to win. "Why? Just tell me _why_? You owe that at least."

"As if. I don't owe you anything. Except maybe this." Braig twisted and pulled the pistol from its holster again. Highwind's kneecap made an enjoyably wet crunch. So did his ribs when he toppled onto his side and Braig kicked him. "Sweet Shiva, I've wanted to do that for a long time, you sanctimonious bastard."

Lockheart launched herself with impressive speed and kicked out at his head, forcing him away from Highwind and towards Squall's box. Her eyes widened in alarm at what she'd done. On instinct, Braig looked around, and gave a furious roar at the sight of the little healer girl from earlier undoing the locking mechanism.

Braig swung the gunblade around and fired without thinking, but it was too late. Squall shoved the door open from the inside, cannoning into the girl and knocking her out of the way. The container was built to withstand Heartless attacks, but not the destructive force of a gunblade shell. There was a reason even gunblade masters rarely used them. The report alone was enough to liquefy eardrums. The container's glass shattered, sending thick chunks in all directions. Braig covered his face with his arm to shield it and heard yelps of pain from everyone in the room. One shard lodged in his forearm, sticking out from both sides. It numbed his hand, forcing him to drop Revolver from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Squall's face was a mask of red from the slash across the bridge of his nose and forehead. He was lucky the wound hadn't blinded him, though he blinked rapidly as his own blood got into his eyes faster than he could wipe it away. The little healer he'd sheltered with his body trembled and stared between him, Braig, and the crumpled forms of Highwind and Lockheart. Lockheart had taken a blow to the head from a piece of flying debris, knocking her out cold. She sprawled over Highwind, who groaned and tried to push her off without passing out from the pain in his knee and chest, and the half-healed damage to his heel and shoulder.

Adrenaline coursed through Braig's system, but he knew his first impulse – to pull the shard from his arm – was a bad one. Right now it was acting as a plug to keep him from bleeding out, though it'd also rendered his hand useless. He grunted against the pain, blocking it out. Pain was just a message for the brain to interpret, he told himself, and his brain was holding all calls.

The scrape of metal brought him back to the present moment. It sounded inordinately loud in the silence following the explosion.

Squall held Revolver in both hands, facing Braig like a seasoned warrior instead of a boy who hadn't yet graduated. "Aerith," he gritted to the healer girl. "Go heal Captain Highwind, and make sure Tifa's okay."

"But -"

"_Do it_." He set his feet, planting himself between her and Braig. "I don't understand, Commander. Why are you doing this?"

"You have no idea what's going on, Squall."

Squall frowned at the over-familiar use of his name. There was an undercurrent to it Braig no longer tried to conceal. "No, I don't, but I know this isn't you."

Braig chuckled. Yeah, still such an innocent. He wondered whether the boy would ever lose that. If he did, Braig wanted to be the one to take it from him. It was his right, after all. Squall belonged to him now. "Like I said, you have no idea. I worked really hard to keep you safe, kid, but you're determined to play the hero no matter what I do. You just keep finding new people who need you to play that part for them, even if it gets you hurt. You're better than they are. You've always been better than everyone else, but you treat them like they're worth something. Ansem's new world doesn't have any place for nobodies like that, Squall, it only has room for people like you and me – people who _matter_; who are willing to show their fangs and make sacrifices to get what they want."

"Ansem? Lord Ansem ordered you to do this?"

"Lord Ansem … released those monsters?" Highwind wheezed. "I dun' believe it. He wouldn't sentence all those people to death like that. He ain't no mass murderer."

"Shut the hell up, Highwind, and open your eyes. You think all those orders to wipe out the enemy with acid-dragon blood bombs and whipsnake grenades came from his food-taster? Lord Ansem may have made himself into some super-nice, hi-everybody-I'm-harmless-really weakling since the war ended, but there's blood on his hands, the same as the rest of us. That hypocrite has just as much darkness in his heart as … well, _me_. And I never even _looked_ at my probe results." Braig rounded on Squall. "You've never known Radiant Garden as anything but this fake paradise where everybody gets along and yadda-yadda-yadda. Newsflash: that's bullshit. The place was built on bones, but nobody talks about that because, hey, we won the war, right? History's written by the winners, and Lord Ansem wrote a real doozy of a fairytale for this shithole. Problem is, he started to believe it, and he shoved it down everybody else's throats, too."

"Radiant Garden -" Squall started.

"Is a sham. Now's the time you'd better learn the most important lesson I'll ever teach you, Squall: everything too good to be true _is_, and if you're not willing to be the strongest and take what you want by force, you'll get sucked into the lie and trampled like every other blind fool."

Since his dress uniform had no gloves, Squall's hands were visible. Braig could see the whiteness of his knuckles. "Commander, what _happened_ to you?"

"I was given the opportunity to be in on a new world order, if you'll believe the rhetoric. But this is a lesson I've always known, Squall. Too bad your daddy didn't when he took on Ansem and lost."

Squall's eyes widened so much the whites were visible all around his irises. "You're lying."

"As if. I've never lied to you, Squall. Your father's dead. All your little friends are dead. I'm the only one left who matters to you."

"You're _lying_!"

"Yaaaah!" A tiny bundle of silk and gold flew out of the shadows as if it'd been part of them. It wrapped around Braig's head, effectively blinding him. "You keep away from my future husband, you poopy-head!"

"Highness!" Squall yelped.

"Princess Yuffie!" cried the healer girl.

"Damn it, I thought someone was following us," Highwind growled. "Goddamn ninjas!"

A small foot landed directly on the shard of glass in Braig's arm, jolting it sideways and cutting into the muscle. He roared, unable to register the message as anything but excruciating pain. Reaching up with his good hand, he grabbed the little Wutai princess by her leg and swung her around like a mace on a chain. She squealed. He let her fly and, predictably, Squall transferred the gunblade to one hand and leaped to catch her with the other. He rolled, cutting himself on the scattered glass, coming to rest against Captain Trepe's body.

The princess began to scream. "She hasn't got a head. _Why hasn't she got a head_?!"

Braig decided the irritating brat didn't much need her head either. He had enough rounds left in his pistol to take her out and cover himself while he went to fetch another weapon that wasn't just a glorified club.

However, when he levelled the pistol something hard and metal smacked against the back of his head and he saw stars.

"C'mon," Highwind shouted, pressing a foot down on the back of Braig's neck to pin him in place. "All you kids get the fuck outta here. I'll take care of this."

"I'm not leaving," Squall began, but the look Highwind threw him wasn't to be trifled with.

"That's an order, Cadet. I may not be a Royal Guard, but I still outrank you. Move it! Get the princess to safety. Lockheart! Gainsborough! Shift your asses and go with him. This sack of shit is mine."

Braig sniggered, nose squashed against the floor. "As … if."

He reached around at a thoroughly gymnastic angle and grabbed the ankle of Highwind's injured foot, pirouetting him towards the floor. Once again, Highwind obviously hadn't waited for the healer to finish completely, because he yelped in agony and grabbed the knee Braig had shot. Still, he managed to land a solid boot into Braig's ribs that left him breathless despite his enhanced strength and agility.

"You have … no idea how long I've … wanted to do that," Highwind gasped.

"Save it for whatever god comes to collect your mangy soul and take it to hell."

"Only if they come for you first, you murderous scumbag."

The room rocked suddenly with the force of an explosion so immense it seemed to shake the whole castle down to its foundations. It had come from next door, where Sephiroth and the other apprentices were still, presumably, engaged in battle. Braig got the feeling Xehanort-Ansem was cutting loose with some more of those freaky powers, heedless of the structural integrity of the building they were _inside_.

"Fuck." Braig leapt to his feet and dashed into the corridor.

"Get back here!" Highwind shouted.

Flames licked out of the doorway to the main lab, but vanished in a second without leaving any scorch marks. Braig ran towards the door, but stopped when General Sephiroth appeared, slashing at what looked like a whipsnake with three heads. The glowing blue reptile snapped at his sword, attempting to electrocute him through it with its special bite. With a flick of his wrist, Sephiroth decapitated all three heads and the creature vanished. Then, pulled by some sixth sense, he looked sideways.

"You!" The glare was as sharp as that ridiculously long sword. Sephiroth's slitted pupils had narrowed until they wee almost invisible, lost in the unearthly green glow of his eyes. Braig recalled the stories that this man had non-human blood in his family tree. It would account for how he'd spent all this time fighting multiple opponents, one of whom was the far-more-powerful-than-Braig-had-ever-realised Xehanort-Ansem, and was still standing.

For the first time since his enhancements – possibly in his _life_ – Braig felt afraid of an opponent.

Aeleus appeared out of the lab, bleeding profusely and with tomahawk raised. He charged Sephiroth, which gave Braig the chance to turn and bolt. With an entire arsenal he'd be wary about trying to face Sephiroth one-on-one, but with a half-empty pistol and a busted arm it was suicidal. He heard Aeleus roar with pain but kept on running, reached the stairs to the dungeons and pelted up them, so that when Sephiroth somersaulted over his head and slammed him backwards he catapulted into one of the cells.

"You're responsible for Zack Fair's disappearance, aren't you?" Sephiroth demanded. "And the death of Quistis Trepe, plus the deaths of countless others who 'went missing' for this disgusting scheme you and those other traitors have been running. A new world order? You've condemned everyone with your dreams of power and madness!"

"Like you wouldn't have taken the chance to sharpen your claws again? Don't tell me you've never felt like a caged animal since the war ended, _General_. Men like us are built for fighting. We only truly come alive in battle."

"What happened upstairs," Sephiroth growled, "the death of my king, my comrades, and all those other people – that wasn't a battle. That was a slaughter."

Spitting blood, Braig sniped, "And part of you probably loved it."

Eyes literally flashing, Sephiroth raised his sword to stab him through the heart. Braig was only saved by a concussive force that knocked Sephiroth across the room.

Xehanort-Ansem trembled with rage and something more. His labcoat hung off him in charred strips, a large chunk of his scalp and cheek missing and his effortless good looks destroyed. Behind him, Braig could see the other apprentices, lingering like they'd been ordered to follow but didn't know what they were meant to do. Braig sat up and scrambled aside, allowing them to fully enter the cell.

Sephiroth got to his feet, but not before treating the sad little bundle of corpses on which he'd landed to a fresh scowl. "This is your new world order, Xehanort? Massacring innocents to create monsters, locking children away to experiment on them, and lying to those who trusted you most?"

"There is no Xehanort, only Ansem."

Some of the prisoners had died in these cells before they could be set free. The Heartless had ignored their bodies, since their hearts had ceased to beat. The smell of excrement from when the bodies evacuated their bowels was stifling, as was the burgeoning stench of decay beneath it.

"For you," Sephiroth said, looking around at them, "_all_ of you, I'm willing to break my oath not to take a life. Especially," he added, looking directly at Braig, "you. Zack Fair was my best friend. I will not let his death go unpunished."

"You're welcome to try," Xehanort-Ansem said, opening his hands to show a globule of the same swirling dark substance he'd used to make his earlier portals. He made a shoving motion with his hands, sending it careening towards Sephiroth. It wrapped around him, suddenly sticky instead of smooth, and no matter how hard Sephiroth fought he only entangled himself further.

Braig's breath caught in his throat: Xehanort-Ansem had truly discovered a way to use the darkness in his own heart as a weapon, just as Braig himself had always dreamed of doing.

"What -?" Sephiroth was cut off by his bonds constricting his chest. He wheezed, until they wrapped around the lower half of his face, covering his mouth.

"If I can't kill you in this world," Xehanort-Ansem purred, "I'll simply banish you to the Realm of Nothingness where you belong."

The sticky darkness lengthened and thickened until it completely covered Sephiroth. He fell over backwards, corpses sticking to him and becoming absorbed into the substance – absorbed into his body, it seemed, since his shape didn't change no matter how many bodies vanished. He struggled and screeched like a man in the throes of unutterable torment, though his voice was muffled.

When he kicked one of the corpses it groaned. Apparently, when the Heartless bypassed these empty cells, they'd missed a prisoner who was too weak to move, but not yet dead. Braig squinted, recognising the filthy mop of blond hair as Cloud Strife, a cockroach of a boy who was good at surviving when he should've died. Well, he was plumb out of luck _this_ time.

Sephiroth began to fade away from the feet up. It was a slow, agonising process, which made Braig wonder whether Captain Leonheart had died before Lord Ansem was banished this way, or after watching it happen.

Cloud Strife's body snagged in the substance. He groaned, eyelids flickering as it began to consume him.

"Cloud! No!" Someone shoved through the line of apprentices. "No! _No!_"

Braig swore and tackled Squall to the floor. The kid was alone; probably having come back for Highwind like the little hero he was, only to hear the sounds of battle from here. He elbowed Braig but Braig pinned him down, and Squall wailed as he saw the friend whom he'd though had abandoned him, then died in the Heartless attack, alive but being taken away once more.

"Cloud!"

"He's lost, Squall," Braig gritted.

"No! I won't lose him! Not again! I won't fail him again!" Impulsively, Squall dragged up Revolver and fired twice before Braig could stop him. The first shell passed straight through Xehanort-Ansem from behind, but the other went wide, slamming into the trussed Sephiroth.

The effect was explosive. The darkness snapped outward like an enraged octopus, flinging globules of itself around the cell. Wherever they landed portals appeared, and from these Heartless flowed in their hundreds.

Braig watched, aghast, as Dilan convulsed and one Heartless tugged another out of his blood-brother's chest. Aeleus swung his tomahawk in a wide arc, while Even attempted to use Ienzo as a human shield until they were both mobbed.

Xehanort-Ansem was on his knees, trying to staunch the fatal wound in his chest that _should_ have killed him outright. A cluster of Heartless pounced on him. Though he flung them off, even he was soon lost amidst the swarm.

Someone booted Braig in the back, kicking him off Squall. "C'mon, kid, we gotta book it," Highwind's distinctive voice rasped.

"But Cloud -"

"Ain't nothing you can do for him now, kid, 'cept live instead of die on his behalf."

"No!" Braig grabbed Squall's ankle, unable to rise because of the Heartless on his back and legs. "You're mine! You're _mine_, Squall! You're my prodigy! I'm all you've got left!"

Squall looked down at his mentor and kicked him into a wall of skittering black bodies. "I'm nobody's. I'm a failure."

"You're not!" Braig thought of the gold warrior and the way his voice sounded so much like Squall's. You could be great -"

"Leonheart!" Highwind barked.

Braig's last sight of Squall was his retreating back, as his vision crowded with shadows. Cold, inhuman fingers thrust into his chest to pull out his twisted lump of a heart. There was a moment in which he met the eyes of the Heartless created when his inner heart ruptured. It was huge. Apparently the darkness within him was immense.

_I guess I really don't need to look at those test results anymore_, he thought as he faded away, vacating his body with a last desperate thought.

"_The darkness within the heart is the true measure of a person, which makes hearts the most destructive weapon ever. I fight with the power of my heart, while you rely on your guns and bullets, therefore I will always prevail because my weapon is the stronger one."_

Braig died as he'd lived: chased by phantoms, bloodlust and memories of a keyblade warrior in gold armour.

* * *

_To Be Concluded …_

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	8. Epilogue: Xigbar

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**Epilogue: Xigbar**

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"Squall, I have a question."

Leon sighed the lacklustre sigh of someone who'd said the same thing a million times before, and knew he'd say it a million times more in the future. "It's Leon." He turned around. "And get your shoes off the table."

Yuffie stuck out her tongue. She toed off her shoes, leaving her feet propped next to the plates and forks set out ready for the cheesecake Aerith had made for supper. Aerith made the best cheesecakes, topped with blackberries, strawberries, chocolate and caramel, though Leon was sparing in his compliments – something Yuffie often rebuked him for.

"There. Shoes are off the table. Question time!"

Leon rolled his eyes. "Shoot."

"How come, if your gunblade is called 'Lionheart', it has 'Revolver' written on the side? Isn't that, like, a really tiny gun, not a big freaker hybrid thingy like this?"

"What?"

"Look, you can see it here where the paint has flaked away – hey! You don't have to snatch! Leon? Leon!"

"Leon?" Aerith said as he brushed past her in the hall. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"But it's late. There are Heartless everywhere."

"I'm. Going. Out."

Something of the emotion in his tone must've gotten though, because she didn't sigh and shake her head, or even gently try to make him see sense. Instead, she brushed her fingers along his arm as he passed, as if trying to reassure him through touch alone against whatever was bothering him. His skin tingled even when he was halfway down the street, but it was little comfort.

Traverse Town was nowhere to be at night, whether you could defend yourself or not. It stank of decay and darkness – scents that registered with the mind and heart rather than the nose.

Leon made straight for the sewers, where he went into one of his most punishing _kata_ routines. Usually he only did solitary training like that in the mornings, when Heartless activity was lowest, but Yuffie's question had reawakened parts of his mind he would rather had stayed dormant. He needed to scour them out of himself with something physical that left him too tired to do anything but sleep.

He paused, bringing his gunblade close to his face. The custom paint job was indeed coming off, though the chain, a metalwork rendition of Griever, the lion-head of his family's crest, was still there. Cid had made it for him not long after they arrived in Traverse Town, when he was still getting used to his new name, to being Leon the Heartless Warrior, and trying to forget all the memories attached to Cadet Squall Leonhart. They'd all been trying to forget things back then, with varying degrees of success.

Leon touched the scar on his face, feeling the rough leather of his glove against the skin on either side but not on the scar itself. The nerves there were too badly damaged. He'd refused to let Aerith heal it: to survive was to carry scars, and he would never let himself forget _that_.

Yuffie couldn't remember much of that last terrible night in Radiant Garden, though at the time she'd been traumatised. She'd had screaming nightmares and night-sweats for months afterwards, until Aerith took to sleeping next to her in her bed. Something about Aerith's presence was almost preternaturally soothing, even as a child, so when she and Tifa carried Yuffie over to Leon's bed and they all snuggled together, he hadn't objected. It was the only way any of them got any sleep, and he'd gotten used to waking tangled in girls' limbs, the way boys from his dorm used to dream about waking up. Nothing about it was erotic, though; not when the warmth of their skin and the sound of their breathing was the only thing keeping nightmares of blood, death and despair at bay.

They'd all be dead right now if Merlin, then the court wizard at Disney Castle, hadn't magically sensed the disturbance of the darkness. He had convinced King Mickey to send a fleet of Gummi Ships to Radiant Garden to rescue survivors. Leon hated the fact that, for all his skills and talent, he'd had to rely on so many other people to save his worthless hide, and then been forced to watch them suffer afterwards. His own powerlessness had been like a blade through his heart.

Cid spent those initial weeks sitting around waiting for his damaged knee to stop making him want to cut off his own leg with a butter knife. Aerith had healed him as best she could, but she'd never completed her training and his injuries never fully recovered. He got rheumatism in his knee these days. When the weather was wet he could still be found sitting in his armchair in the early hours of the morning, drawing blueprints for new inventions, playing solitaire, fixing whatever mechanical thing had broken lately, and just doing whatever he could to take his mind of the old injury and how he got it. Cid never talked of what happened nine years ago, but he'd lost friends too when Radiant Garden fell.

Leon eventually climbed out of the sewers and stared at the moon, bathed in sweat and sewage water. He was barely able to drag his tired limbs home, but still too restless to settle when he got there.

Nine years.

Yuffie was sixteen now, the same age he'd been when his world collapsed around him and he got his first tastes of betrayal, failure and guilt. He'd been fighting the darkness for nine years, and it had seemed like there was no end in sight until recently, when Merlin talked of portents and signs that the fabled Keyblade Master who would save them all was about to be revealed.

_I was supposed to be able to save everyone, once_. Leon closed his eyes, picturing Radiant Garden, his father, Cloud, Captains Trepe, Reno and Fair, his classmates, and all the other people Lord Ansem had sacrificed in the name of power. _That was what I trained for. _

Huh, him? Save everyone? He couldn't even save his best friend from turning into … whatever it was Cloud had turned into that made him move from world to world, and made Tifa chase him.

Leon had tried to keep her from going the first time, haunted by the deadness in Cloud's eyes that had ruined any joy at seeing him alive again. Once more, he'd let his best friend down and not been there when Cloud needed him. Tifa had punched Leon in the jaw, thieved some of Merlin's experimental extra-strength potion, and run away into the night on a stolen Gummi Ship.

"Hey Leon," Yuffie had said to him when she was eight and he was nineteen, "I'm a pretty talented ninja, right?"

"I don't think it's a career path your father wanted for you, but yeah."

"So would you call me a child prodigy?"

Leon had stared at her, before saying firmly, "You don't want to be a prodigy."

"Why not? Merlin says King Mickey was a child prodigy, and he's really cool. I want to be a child prodigy!"

"You don't want to be one, because when things go wrong, you're the one people look at to fix them, and that label makes it worse when you can't do a damn thing."

"You said a bad word! I'm telling … not Cid, he'd say a worse one. Aerith! I'm telling Aerith that you said a bad word!"

That part of the memory made him smile, which eased the tension in his facial muscles. Leon sighed, leaning up against the wall of the house they all shared before going inside. He'd been gone for hours. Everyone would be in bed by now. He'd have to take off his shoes and avoid the creaky floorboard at the foot of the stairs, although if Cid was awake maybe there'd be the offer of a drink –

A flicker of movement nearby caught his attention. Thinking it was a Heartless, he brought Lionheart to bear and stood ready, waiting to see what type it was before he tried any attack. He'd invented plenty to cope with the increasing number, size and abilities of Heartless, but there was one he'd never used since he became Leon.

"Gonna use Renzokuken on me?"

Time and suppression had made the memory dim, but Leon would've known that voice anywhere – _Squall_ would've known it anywhere. Cold washed through him, turning his thoughts slow and his nerves to ice.

But it couldn't be. It had been nine years. Maleficent had moved into Radiant Garden since then, renaming it Hollow Bastion and turning it into the hub of her empire. She had using the once-shining paradise to smash the tattered remnants of surrounding nations the Heartless hadn't already decimated – Resplendia, the Dazzle Islands, even distant Wutai. She'd filled the castle with Heartless made from those conquered nations. There was no way anybody could still be there whom she didn't want. And besides, Leon had been there when he _died _–had _seen_ the Heartless make him into one of their own_. _It _couldn't _be him …

"So this is how champions wind up: not fighting great battles themselves, but sitting on their hands in a backwater town, on a no-name world, waiting for warriors with keyblades to come and rescue them and their pathetic little friends." There was no disgust in the words, though they seemed to demand them. It was more like they'd been learned by rote and parroted so many times they'd lost all meaning to the one speaking them. The hooded figure didn't move or reveal his face, but he didn't need to.

"Comman-?" Leon swallowed and shook his head. His voice hardened. "Braig?"

"No."

"Huh?"

"Whoever the Powers That Be have chosen, Squall, _you_ would've been a much better Keyblade Master." The speaker paused. "You had the heart for it."

Leon took a step forward, but it was as if the movement broke whatever spell was holding this ghost in the world. Reality shimmered and darkened, merging with the shadow thrown by the house next door. Leon squinted, but the figure was gone and he was left alone, wondering whether anyone had ever really been there at all.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd suffered delusions of his past. When Aerith was staying at Disney Castle, trying to learn more about healing from Queen Minnie, and he got sick with pneumonia he'd ranted and raved over stuff that Cid refused to talk about afterwards. When he and Yuffie got themselves trapped in the mountains outside town during a blizzard, they'd both seen things that weren't there.

But it had seemed so _real_ …

The door behind him opened and a chink of light cut through the night. "Leon?" Aerith was in her dressing gown and slippers. She'd obviously been waiting up for him, worried by his earlier behaviour after speaking to Yuffie and finding out what had sparked it.

Aerith knew all about why he'd renamed Revolver into Lionheart. Revolver was Squall's weapon – was _Braig's_ weapon, which he'd used for murder. Lionheart had never been raised in anything except the desire to protect those Leon cared about.

He continued to stare at the spot where the delusion … phantom … whatever it was had been.

"It's cold, Leon. Come inside and warm up. I saved you some cheesecake."

"Yeah." He turned away from the spot, meeting her eyes and giving a half-smile that wasn't the least bit genuine. "Thanks, Aerith."

She touched his hand. "I won't ask if you're okay."

"Okay. I won't tell you that I am."

Her smile was more genuine, but not by much. "Deal."

The front door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the light and letting the darkness wash over everything once more.

* * *

_**Fin.**_

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**A/N****:** If you'd like to read more of Zack, Reno and Quistis (and her feelings for Braig, which weren't really dealt with in this fic), then check out the side-story _Detention Woes_.

The story of young Leon, Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, Yuffie, Cid and Merlin in Traverse Town will be continued in _Triptych_, and the twisted relationship between Braig/Xigbar and adult Leon will show up again in _Wolf at the Door, _so watch out for those fics.

Thank you for sticking with _The Most Dangerous Game_. Reviews are better than chocolate – less calorific and twice as tasty. Won't you tickle my taste buds with a review today?

Okay, that was too cheesy for words. Regardless, reviews are much appreciated, and I hope to see you all next time!

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